Trial by Fire
by Ecri
Summary: I changed the rating a little. Also Fixed the formatting problem. This sould be much easier to read! Batman and Robin match wits with old enemies. Based more on the Live Action Films.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. I am borrowing them, but I write only for my own enjoyment. I did not make any money with this story.

Trial by Fire by Ecri

He sat silently going over the newest schematics and designs. The repairs had taken a long time, but he'd–they'd–improved on the original designs. He was still trying to get used to that–thinking in terms of a partner. He'd always thought of Alfred as his partner, but he'd gotten the feeling that Alfred viewed himself as more of a guardian trying to keep Bruce Wayne/Batman in one piece. Now there was a new figure in the equation.

As he though about this third and newest member in a very exclusive–and very secret–club his gaze rested on the suits. Lining one section of the bat cave were rows of bat suits. He'd managed to replace almost all of the ones the Riddler had destroyed, but some of his resources and materials had gone into making a slightly different suit. 

There were a number of them. Almost as many as there were bat suits. The number would be even in a few weeks–barring distractions. Slightly smaller than his own, the second suit had a bit more color to it, though they were muted colors. In style, it was similar to his own, the major difference being the lack of a cowl and the stylized R on the left chest area.

"Looking good!" The voice came from behind him and he was startled in spite of himself. He had grown accustomed to being alone with his thoughts in the bat cave. Alfred had referred to it as brooding. Bruce preferred to think of it as contemplation or strategizing–certainly not brooding.

Bruce looked up at his new companion. "What is?" 

"Everything!" 

Richard Grayson wandered around the bat cave extolling its virtues. Bruce, unable to stop himself, slipped back into his thought. So now he had a partner. If he did this right, he'd have a friend. He glanced over at the youngster who'd entered. Full of energy. Rebellious. Infused with purpose. Of course, being so young, he needed guidance. Every so often, he needed to be reassured. He needed a friend. So do I, Bruce thought.

Bruce hoped he could offer more than an endless supply of money and nightly escapades of vigilantism. Was he doing the boy more harm than good? At times, Dick seemed almost happy. He certainly loved working on the motorcycles. He seemed to enjoy the trapeze system Bruce had installed as well as the time Bruce had booked with a local trapeze artist to catch while Dick flew.

Sometimes though, and it was impossible to predict when, he'd become sullen, withdrawn, and somber. He angered easily at such times, and he often seemed about to do some damage to whatever hapless person or thing was within arm's reach at the time. Or, at the very least, to himself. He always managed to restrain himself, though. So far.

Bruce understood, of course. He'd been much the same when he'd lost his parents. At least he'd still had Alfred and his home. Dick had lost his parents, his brother, his home, and his job...his entire way of life...instantaneously.

Alfred said he'd adjust, and put it behind him someday. Bruce had responded that they didn't know that for sure, knowing Alfred would understand what he was thinking. Bruce had never truly recovered from his own personal tragedy. As a matter of fact, he'd only recently begun to face it. Thanks to Dr. Chase Meridian.

He wondered if Chase would be able to help Dick. He wondered if Chase would be able to help him. He wondered if either of them would let her help.

"So..." Dick came over to Bruce's computer as Alfred entered the bat cave with repaired capes draped over one arm.

Bruce looked up at Dick quizzically. When Dick didn't volunteer any further information, Bruce felt compelled to spur the conversation onward. "W hat?"

Dick was barely able to control himself. "Did you look at 'em?"

Bruce smiled. "Yes. I managed to take a look."

"And?" Dick was almost bouncing with pent up energy by this time.

Bruce laughed. Alfred spun to face his employer. He hadn't heard the sound of laughter in this house in a long time. He'd certainly never heard it in the bat cave. It lightened the mood and Alfred's heart in an instant.

"They look good." Bruce's eyes twinkled as he spoke.

Dick's smile threatened to split his head in half. "All right! So I can build it?"

Bruce nodded slowly. "Sure. First, I think we should discuss modifications, budgetthings like that.

Richard's enthusiasm gave way to suspicion. "What kind of modifications?" 

Bruce hurried to reassure the you th. "All dependent on your approval, of course! I only thought you didn't utilize the space as well as you could." 

"Space?" Dick was puzzled.

"For...gadgets."

Once again the boy smiled enthusiastically. Bruce smiled back, and, although neither of the younger men saw it, Alfred smiled as well.

Dr. Chase Meridian checked her watch again and, with a sigh of satisfaction, shut her notebook and capped her pen. It was precisely 6:00 PM, and she had just enough time to get back to her apartment, shower and change before Bruce picked her up for their date. She'd thought about him quite a bit today. She was concerned about him. She snatched up her coat and bag and indulged in some predate worries on the way to her car.

Bruce Wayne, billionaire playboy. Th at was the image crafted by Gossip Gerty and the like. The man was miles from the image. He'd lived with his guilt for most of his life--nurturing it in a way by giving it life and a name and a purpose. Yet he'd also buried it so deeply in his subconscious that it had taken decades to surface.

How could she help him? How could she not? Tonight she hoped to answer those questions–and maybe raise a few others.

The elegant table setting, candlelight, and soft music seemed to lend an ethereal quality to the room. The decor--crystal chandeliers, diaphanous white draperies enhanced this–it was hard to be tense in a place like this.

Chase looked across the table at her companion. She could see that he was tired, but she guessed that he was used to it. Spending your nights the way he did probably allowed little time for luxuries like sleep.

Bruce looked up from his plate and caught her staring. He flashed her a dazzling smile. She returned it. "Bruce..." She hesitated for a moment unsure how to continue. In the end, she decided to plunge right in. "We've been seeing a lot of each other, and I know so little about you."

Again he smiled. "You know more about me than people who have known me for years."

She nodded. "I'll concede that point, but I' m speaking about a more personal level. I need to know more about you."

She saw him hesitate, though he wouldn't allow his eyes to leave hers. "What do you want to know?" He tried to make it sound casual, but she could detect the apprehension he tried to hide.

"What kind of music do you like? What side of the bed do you sleep on? Who's your favorite author? What kind of foods do you enjoy?" Her eyes twinkled as she leaned in closer to him and added in a whisper, "What do you wear when you sleep?"

He chuckled and she realized she'd never heard him really laugh before. "Anything else?"

"That'll do for a start."

"Fair exchange of information?"

"Anything you want to know." She smiled as she raised her glass to his. With a delicate tap, the two glasses touched.

Gotham City could be a beautiful place. Unless it was dark. And damp. And cold. The early November breezes had a way of making you long for the still, hot summer. November breezes usually turned into December storms. Tonight, the air was a bit nippier. The ground was a bit icier. The few pedestrians in downtown Gotham hugged their coats to them like old friends as they set a brisk pace home.

One figure moved stealthily through the shadows, unseen by Gothamites with home and hearth on their minds. It moved lithely, silently, almost undetectably. Anyone who did happen to notice would have thought it something inconsequential. That would be a fatal error. The silent figure crept through the streets, making hardly a sound. Until necessary. 

It was almost necessary. A man rushed down the street dragging a woman after him. The figure settled into the shadows to watch. The man was talking loudly.

"...your fault! How could you make such a stupid mistake!"

"Stop! You're hurting me!"

The man stopped and turned to his companion. "It's no more than you deserve! And don't talk back to me!" He backhanded her savagely across the face.

The woman started to cry. "I didn't mean it, Arnie!"

Arnie was not pacified. "You never mean it! Why don't you ever stop to think?" He brought back his hand again and just when he would have started the arc forward, something stung his wrist. Something that held on to him like it would never let go. That was when he heard the purring.

A figure stepped out of the shadows. Arnie stared as it stepped into the light. She was tall, thanks in part to the 6-inch heels she wore, and she was definitely a she. The skin-tight, vinyl suit she wore hugged every curve leaving little for the imagination thus freeing it up for other pursuits. With a flick of her wrist, she cracked the whip that she held in her hand releasing Arnie's arm. He gaped at her searching for something to say. "What're you?" was all he could manage.

"I am woman, hear me roar." Her voice was deep and soft...sexy. She stepped closer to Arnie and his girlfriend making every move seem a sensual task. "What are you, Arnie?" She looked him up and down. "Big he-man from the Woman-Haters club? Like to throw your weight around, Arnie?"

Arnie took a step back. He'd never seen or heard anything like this before. Her voice was deep and seemed to resonate through him. When she moved, his eyes strayed to certain areas of her anatomy. She was amazing. She moved like a cat. Leaping at him she used leverage to throw him against the wall. "Come on, Arnie, show me what you've got." 

Arnie chuckled nervously. "Whad'ya mean? Look if you're looking for some action..."

Catwoman put a finger to his lips revealing dagger like claws that he hadn't noticed before. "Shhh, Arnie, I don't need to look for action. It follows me everywhere."

Her eyes, which had been darting around and taking in every line and curve of his face, suddenly locked onto his eyes. "Why'd you hit her, Arnie?"

Arnie swallowed, trying to work up some indignance at the question. "I don't gotta t ell you nothin'." 

Catwoman shrugged. "No. You don't." As she held him against the wall with one hand, the other swung back in vicious arc. Claws extended, she scratched across his face, leaving behind five bloody trails that began oozing a deep, dark red. Arnie screamed. His girl turned to run, but didn't get far. You can't out run a cat.

Life's dramas take place in close proximity. At least they do in Gotham. Across town from Arnie's mishap stood Tabor's Jewelry Store. The highest priced, highest class jewelry store in Gotham was the favorite shopping stop for the most well-to-do members of Gotham Society. Many people shopped there merely so that it would look like they could afford it. 

Mr. Tabor himself still stopped in occasionally to see some of the more important clients. It was considered something of an honor when he decided to add your name to the list of people he would personally assist. He preferred it that way. His store had developed quite a reputation over the decades it had occupied the sturdy stone structure on Main Street. It was said that no customer ever left Tabor's dissatisfied. It was also a point of pride for Mr. Tabor that the store had never been robbed.

Tabor's was locked up for the evening. Bars across the door and window combined with the security sticker from Gotham's best companies would deter most criminals. Of course, most criminals thought on a rather simple scale. Grand schemes were beyond the run of the mill villainy that normally prowled Gotham's streets. Tonight, however, history would be made.

A car pulled up in front of Tabor's, its exhaust belching from the rear as if it were really trying to hold it in. The store stood stoically unaware that it was about to become another statistic in the annals of crime. The driver's side window rolled down as a hand poked out and pointed a device at the building. For a moment nothing happened. Then, slowly, the gates began to retreat, rolling up into their storage areas as if it were a normal occurrence. A slight giggle emanated from the shadowy interior of the car.

Once the bars were out of the way, the only real barrier was the glass. With a crash, it shattered creating a blanket of shattered jewel-like fragments that ranged in size from dust to jagged edged shards. A man crept silently through the remains giggling. Reaching into the large duffel bag he'd slung over one shoulder, he pulled out a comically large flashlight. Playing the light over the glass coated floor, he quickly found the object of his attention; a rock. He hefted it in one hand and planted a kiss on its cold, hard surface. 

"Crude, but effective." He laughed maniacally and returned the stone to his bag. Then he began to help himself.

Alfred carefully laid out the breakfast table, complete with a rose and the morning paper. A surreptitious peek into the driveway 30 minutes earlier had let him know that there'd be an extra place for breakfast this morning. He'd hoped Bruce and Chase would be able to maintain their relationship, but he wasn't sure bringing the girl home would set a good example for Dick. He would have to talk to Bruce about it before this became a habit.

As he laid out the final napkin, he heard the sounds of hushed voices and careful footsteps. As Bruce and chase entered, he gestured to the table. "Please be seated. Breakfast will be served in a moment." He returned to the kitchen, allowing them their privacy.

Busying himself with the final preparations, Alfred moved quickly around the kitchen making toast and coffee, pouring juice, and filling the sugar bowl. Engrossed in his work, he did not notice the door to the kitchen, the one from the opposite end as the dining room, swing slowly open. 

"Hey, Al, what's for breakfast?" Dick moved from table to stove peering under lids and into bread baskets.

Alfred jumped in spite of himself. "Why do you insist on doing that every day?" 

"What?" Dick reached for a piece of toast.

"You know perfectly well what. Each morning, in some bizarre ritual you creep up behind me without making a noise. Why? Do you like to see a grown man jump first thing each day?"

"Sorry." Dick seemed not to know what to say. He shifted uncomfortably and seemed about to retreat. Alfred paused. It was possible the boy was unaware of how light on his feet he was. Considering what he'd grown up doing, perhaps this was as natural to the boy as breathing. Alfred gestured to the table, bringing over an extra large glass of orange juice to make amends for hurting the boy's feelings.

"So what's for breakfast?" Dick a sked again in single minded determination.

"As you requested: pancakes." Alfred removed a silver cover from a plate on the table revealing an impressive stack of perfectly uniform buttermilk pancakes. Drops of butter lazily poured down the sides as a large, creamy glob on the top of the stack melted. Two similar domes covered several platters already sitting on a tray to be taken into the next room.

Dick sat down, eyes wide. He poured a generous serving of maple syrup over the stack and began to eat. Between mouthfuls, he managed to compliment Alfred's prowess in the kitchen. Dick glanced around the room. "Where's Bruce?"

Alfred sighed. "Just through there. With Dr. Meridian."

Dick grinned. "All right! I knew he had it in him!" He stopped and looked up at Alfred. "She did stay the night, right?" 

Alfred nodded. Dick turned back to his pancakes apparently dropping the issue of Bruce's nocturnal activities. As he ate, he glanced at the newspapers Alfred had placed on the table preparatory to taking them in to Bruce. One headline caught his eye, and a low groan escaped.

Alfred turned to see what had upset his charge and saw Dick holding the paper in a white-knuckled grip. The pressure caused wrinkles and creases in the crisp newsprint. His face had gone white and his mouth hung open. Eyes wide, he turned the newspaper so Alfred could see. The older man felt his heart freeze as he lost his grip on the plate he'd been carrying. It fell to the floor with a resounding crash.

Bruce and Chase were at the do or in moments. Bruce looked form Alfred to Dick and back again, unsure who was better able to answer him. Instead of choosing, he asked the room. "What happened?"

"Here." Dick tossed Bruce a newspaper. "We had something of a shock over breakfast."

Catching the newspaper in mid-air, Bruce turned it right side up and saw what had so upset his friends. Gotham papers had long ago learned to get the most from limited space. In large, bold, black print--taking up twice the space of any other headline were words Bruce had hoped never to see: Riddler Escapes!

At the office, Bruce had to contend with business as usual, but one corner of his brain was working on the riddle of the Riddler. Where was he? What was he planning? Whatever it was, Bruce only hoped he could figure it out soon...and before anything serious happened.

Margaret entered his office with a sheaf of papers in one hand and the morning mail on the other. "Mr. Wayne, there are invitations here to three different events on the same day. You'll have to pick one. Also, Mr. Adams and Ms. Bradley are waiting for your go-ahead on the Lockwood project. Mr. Tucker is holding on line one and Gossip Gerty is on line two wondering which of these events you'll be attending and who you're going to take."

Bruce smiled. "You're allowed to take a breath, Margaret."

Margaret smiled at her boss, the only indication that she'd heard what he said, and continued. "You also have several hire slips to sign."

You signed the hire slip. I have it. 

The voice echoed through Bruce's head, sending a chill down his spine. Logically, he knew he hadn't caused Edward Nygma's breakdown, but somehow he felt responsible. ("Of course you do," Alfred had said in a weary tone when Bruce had explained his feelings.)

"New policy, Margaret. I want to speak with department heads who're requesting new hires. I want to know about the people who work for me. Once I speak to the department heads, I want to meet with the hires. I won't sign blindly again. Set up the meetings."

Margaret nodded. Easier said than done, but she'd always done whatever Mr. Wayne asked, not bothering to tell him when he asked the impossible. She knew something few people in her position knew: he valued her. She'd been with the company for years and had rarely missed a day. Bruce could make almost any request and have it finished in almost no time.

"You're next appointment is in 15 minutes–Commissioner Gordon."

Bruce frowned. "I don't remember having a meeting with him."

"No, sir. He called this morning asking if we could squeeze him in. He said it was urgent. Something about the Riddler escaping–and you said..."

Bruce interrupted. "I know--the standing orders." Bruce had left orders with his assistant that anytime certain people called they were to be accommodated at all costs. Even if it meant interrupting him in a meeting. It had started out as just Alfred. It had grown recently. Now it included Alfred, Dick, Chase, and Commissioner Gordon. "Okay. Send him in as soon as he arrives."

Efficiently, Bruce and Margaret took care of what they could in the short time they h ad before the commissioner's arrival. When he entered the office, Bruce could see the man had been up most of the night. He put his hand out, clasping the older man's in a firm, friendly handshake. "What can I do for you, Commissioner?"

"I know you're a busy man, Mr. Wayne, so I'll get right to the point. As I'm sure you know by now, Edward Nygma has escaped from Arkham Asylum. We're doing all we can to track him down, but I wanted to discuss a few things with you."

"I'll help in any way I can."

Nodding, the commissioner took a seat. "First, we know Nygma--or the Riddler, as he likes to call himself--is obsessed with you. Do you have any idea how he might try to get to you?"

Bruce thought a moment. "Not really. He seemed to think that he and I were alike. He wanted me to acknowledge that. I think he believed we'd become good friends if he could make me understand his--viewpoint."

"Have you received any threats or strange phone calls."

"No, but I'll let you know if I do."

Gordon nodded. "Please d o." Hesitating, Gordon consulted his notebook. Then he flipped it shut abruptly as if he'd reached a decision." "I don't know how to put this, but I'd like to put a surveillance team on you, your home, and your office. For your own protection."

Bruce had known this was coming. "Thank you, Commissioner, but I don't really think that's necessary. I..."

Gordon cut him off. "Mr. Wayne, the Riddler is a dangerous man. We know he'd go to great lengths to prove himself right. Consider it, please. We can put two men here, a few more can patrol the grounds here and at Wayne Manor."

Bruce shook his head. "I don't think it's a good idea. Besides what if one of your people was killed trying to protect me?"

Gordon wouldn't be put off so easily. "My people are trained professionals. They know how to handle themselves. You've got other things to worry about. " Gordon had obviously done a lot of thinking about this. He wanted to win the argument and had though long and hard about how to do just that. "Mr. Wayne, you've got a responsibility to keep yourself safe. This community depends on you. It would be a crushing blow to Gotham if you were no longer around. Besides, what about the danger to those around you? You're employees are in the line of fire. So are your butler, and that young circus performer you took in. What if the Riddler decides to get to you through them? My people can look out for them, too."

Bruce hesitated. He'd thought about this. He wanted to protect Dick and Alfred. He couldn't take it if someth ing happened to either of them, and this time he would be responsible. 

In the end, he allowed himself to be talked into a team at the office. He wanted to keep Margaret and his other employees safe. Dick, he reluctantly admitted could take care of himself, and together they could look after Alfred.

Bruce called Margaret into his office. "Margaret, make the necessary arrangements with the Commissioner regarding some visiting police officers. The usual. Contact building security, get the passes issued."

"Yes, sir." She paused a moment then handed him a small stack of letters. "This morning's mail."

Taking it in one hand, Bruce was about to toss it into his "in" basket when he noticed something odd about one of the letters. It was lime green and was r eally a thin cardboard box. Emblazoned on the top where the return address should be was a large question mark. 

He looked at the commissioner. "I think I've gotten my first suspicious package."

TBC


	2. Part 2

See disclaimer part 1

Trial by Fire by Ecri

Part 2

Alfred went through his routines quickly. Having taken care of the same house for more than 30 years had ingrained certain habits. He'd never really noticed when he'd been home alone, but now that Dick was there, he became aware that he'd fallen into a pattern over the years. He was only aware of it now because Dick had a way of interrupting it. He was a curious boy, always wanting to know where something had come from, how long Bruce had had it. He seemed to have explored the entire house several times over, yet he always found something to ask Alfred about. 

"Hey, Al!" 

Alfred sighed. There he was again. 

"Al? Where are you?"

"Here, Master Dick." Alfred resigned himself to having his routine interrupted again and hoped he'd remember that he had just been about to polish the hall mirrors.

Dick came running down the hall. Seeing Alfred, he broke into a grin. "Al..." Then he saw the pained look on Alfred's face. He slowed his pace to a trot. "I mean Alfred..."

When Alfred nodded, the boy seemed to regain his confidence. "I was up in the attic..."

"And you found something?" 

Dick chuckled. "Am I getting predictable?"

"Not in the least!" Alfred's protests notwithstanding, Dick knew he'd probably pushed too far, but he was bored in this big old house. Besides, he knew Bruce would probably want to send him to school or something. He'd already hinted at it. Dick ha d to find a way to explain...he didn't want to go. After the freedom of flying all his life, how could he get excited by the idea of sitting all day in one room? No way.

"Look, just tell me what it is, okay. I promise not to bother you the rest of the day. I'll even help you." Dick figured he had nothing to lose by offering a little bribe.

Alfred was suitably impressed. Anything interesting enough to have Dick promise to help with the housework...that was impressive. "Very well, you may show me what's so intriguing...later, when we've finished our chores."

Dick grinned and grabbed a rag from Alfred and began to polish the intricate wood carved banister.

Edward Nygma stared at his uncooperative computer. He had to find a way to access the Internet faster. This worthless pile of spare parts was so slow. More m emory. That's what he needed. If he could increase the memory it would work. Or not. No use kidding himself. All the RAM doublers in the world wouldn't give him enough speed. 

His frustration stemmed from the fact that his own brain worked faster then the computer. There was little he could do about it. He would just have to suffer in silence as the stupid thing creaked and groaned.

He occupied his mind now by trying to guess what would be happening at Wayne Enterprises about now. They must have gotten his package by now. He only hoped it would be effective. Then, of course, there was the back up package...

Cats slept by day and prowled by night. That's what she told herself. That was why putting the suit away in the daytime was acceptable. She still didn't feel quite herself in anything else, but you couldn't go grocery shopping dressed in skin-tight vinyl and carrying a whip,

Selina Kyle pushed her shopping cart down the aisle carefully avoiding the deep red globs and broken glass where someone had dropped an extra large bottle of ketchup. The red stains seemed familiar as did the glass and she flashed back to a day years ago. All she could recall was falling forever, the sound of cats purring. She knew if she put on her vinyl suit she'd recall it. For now she was glad it was home where she couldn't reach it. She had felt increasingly like she was overlooking something. She felt as if she were being controlled. Someone else gave her body orders and she obeyed. The word made something inside her cringe, and her mind fixated on the sounds made by an angry cat.

Snap out of it! She had to snap out of it. How could she when she didn't even know what was going on half the time? She paused in front of the canned tuna. The price had gone up again, but she had a craving for it. Into her cart went a case...plus a few extra cans.

Selina headed for the meat counter. She had a serious desire for chicken livers, even though she couldn't even recall if she'd ever had any.

She tried to keep herself on track. She'd found that if she allowed her mind to wander, it tended to show her things she didn't want to see. By focusing all of her attention on selecting the chicken livers, and then, of course, the milk, eggs, cat toys, and flea collar, Selina soon found herself in the check out line. She breathed a sigh of relief. It would be over soon and she could go back to her apartment until tonight. Tonight. Her brow creased in concentration. I'm not going anywhere tonight, she told herself. No, said a familiar yet frig htening voice in her head, but I am.

Selina suppressed a shudder and turned to unload her groceries onto the conveyer belt. She was trying desperately to keep control of herself, but as she turned with a can of tuna in one hand and a gallon of milk in the other, the local tabloid, Gotham Secrets caught her eye. On the front page was a story with a photograph. Batman's Nocturnal Rituals Revealed! The photo was an artist's rendition of Batman soaring through the air under his own power, the Bat Signal glowing behind him. Inside, Selina felt something snap. She didn't even try to control the tears.

Commissioner Gordon waited patiently as Gotham's finest examined the strange package that had been delivered to Bruce Wayne's office. They'd sent for the bomb squad immediately and had evacuated the building sending all employees home. The only civilians present were Bruce Wayne himself and his assistant Margaret. No matter what Gordon had said, Wayne had insisted on staying put and "seeing this through." Gord on was more than mildly annoyed, but felt he'd gotten a bit of his own back when Margaret had given her employer an equally hard time concerning her presence. Wayne still seemed to want to force her out of the building. When Gordon had suggested to the billionaire that she might be persuaded to leave if he did as well, Wayne had chosen to ignore him.

Now, it seemed as if it would take the bomb squad forever to decide what to do about the box. One of them, Lt. Carlisle, came over to Gordon now with a look of consternation on his face. "What have you got?" Gordon could barely contain himself.

Carlisle looked at the commissioner and then back at the box. "We're not sure. It doesn't look like a bomb."

Gordon let his irritation show. "Oh, it doesn't? And how should it look? Should it have a big clock and sticks of dynamite all over it?"

Carlisle ignored the questions. "Sir, I really don't know. It seems like a simple enough package except that the note attached, which is clean, by the way, says that it is keyed to be opened only by Bruce Wayne. We can't tamper with it. The note says that if Wayne opens it, he'll get a private, harmless, message. If anyone else opens it...well it sort of just lets a threat hang in the air."

Gordon was about to order that it be boxed and shipped to police headquarters when Bruce Wayne--who'd apparently heard it all approached. "Commissioner, give me a chance to open it. If it's meant for me, I'd rather that I be the one exposed to the danger."

Gordon shook his head. "I can't let you do that. I'm here to protect you."

"I appreciate that, Commissioner, but I won't allow this to run my life. I'm opening the package."

Gordon knew when he was beaten. He nodded once, reluctantly, and allowed Wayne to take up position by the box. He managed to herd Margaret into the next room with half his own men. He, Carlisle, Bruce Wayne, and 4 other officers would handle this.

Bruce approached the package carefully. He perused the note, but found no clue on the best way to open t he package. He put his hands gently on either side of the package and raised it off the desk. There in the front was a small metallic catch. The note had indicated that this was keyed to his thumb print. He wasn't sure how Nygma would have gotten his thumb print, but he knew the man well enough to know he wasn't bluffing. Balancing the package on one hand, he placed his thumb on the metallic catch. Immediately, a puff of green smoke began to seep out form the interior. For an instant he thought he'd been tr icked and this box was going to be the means of his death. Then, with a sudden popping noise, the lid of the package sprang back and revealed a perfectly normal, harmless looking video tape. 

Picking up the tape, Bruce looked at Commissioner Gordon. The Commissioner shrugged. Bruce turned the tape over in his hands. Taped to the other side was a short note. PLAY ME it said in large letters scrawled in a childish hand in green crayon.

Bruce crossed his office to the wall across from his desk. The wall looked solid, but when he touched a series of panels in a certain order, the wall slid back to reveal state of the art television/sound system. Gordon rolled his eyes. Another example of Billionaire playboy extravagance.

Bruce slipped the tape into the VCR and stepped back to see what information it would provide. When the picture cleared, they beheld The Riddler on his new improved self-styled throne. He wore a bizarre costume, skin tight, with question marks all over it. In his eyes boiled the hatred that had turned him into the criminal he had become.

The Riddler leaned forward. "Hello, Bruce. I've got a riddle for you. With a magician's best friend, I got the best of you. Danger is near, not here. But a trip to Memorial Stadium tonight may provide a clue." The Riddler dissolved in waves of laughter so great, he fell off his throne. Then the tape ended.

"What the devil does that mean?" Commissioner Gordon had always hated puzzles and riddles and ever since the Riddler had decided to call Gotham his home he'd liked them even less.

Bruce appeared lost in thought. "Misdirection."

"What?" Commissioner Gordon was sure he hadn't heard Wayne correctly.

"A magician's best friend is misdirection. They get you to look at one hand so you don't see what the other is doing. That's what he's doping here. We've got a bomb squad, the police commissioner...all tied up here where there is obviously no threat."

"Fine. But what does that have to do with Memorial Stadium? Do you think he's planning something there ?" Gordon hoped not. There was a baseball game tonight and the Gotham Gladiators had a sold out crowd tonight thanks to their 9 game winning streak. "I'll get a squad out there immediately." With that the commissioner and his men thanked Bruce for his help, packed up their equipment and the video tape and left. Gordon mentioned taking the tape to Batman, which Bruce found amusing, but kept to himself. He wanted to analyze the tape back in the bat cave, but that would have to wait until this evening, when Gordon passed the tape on to his alter ego.

After they'd all left, and he'd convinced Margaret to take the rest of the day off, Bruce couldn't fight the feeling he was overlooking something. He thought carefully about the riddle. The first part, abou t misdirection, clearly implied that the danger was elsewhere. A trip to the stadium might provide the clue. That didn't make sense. Nygma had a grudge against Bruce Wayne. Not Batman. Not all of Gotham. Certainly not the Gotham Gladiators. What did they have to do with anything? 

The solution hit Bruce suddenly, but he was sure, with a sick dread, that he was right. It wasn't the Stadium. The danger was at his home. Wayne manor held within its walls, or soon would, a danger to him and anyone who was there. The Gotham Gladiators were the Home Team and, after all, the purpose to baseball is to go home.

Bruce sat in his chair and gave the command that would open up the link between his office and the bat cave. When nothing happened, he realized that he was still in the middle of repairs. The tube had been damaged when the Riddler had set his bombs. They'd be finished with the repairs in a day or two, but that would not help him now. Now he had to get home.

Traffic was a necessary evil in today's modern society, but whatever in the world would possess the powers that be to hold a baseball game, a concert, and a thrill show all in one night had not considered the effects on traffic patterns. It was still fairly early in the day for rush hour, but due to all the activities, most of the city seemed to be in their cars at the moment. 

Cars were crammed full of Gladiators supporters trying to get to the game, waving pennants and big foam fingers at each other. Thrill show goers were equally overzealous, and the fans of Cyber Rock, the group performing tonight at the arena, lasted the sounds of the band on state of the art car stereos effectively deafening casual passers by.

Bruce had never felt more frustrated. He'd tried to call Alfred on the car phone, but the transmitter must have been blocked. Either that or something was keeping Alfred from answering. That thought gripped Bruce's heart in an icy hold and forced him to fight for control of himself. He had to get home.

Alfred had asked Dick to help with the housework before going up to the attic. Reluctantly, the boy had agreed. Now that those duties had been discharged, quicker than Alfred could have thought possible, Dick led him up into the attic with unbridled energy. He bounced up the steps obviously wishing Alfred would hurry. He'd hoped the boy would forget the artifact, whatever it was, until Bruce had come home, but, while he was willing to wait, Dick was never able to give up on something too easily. Alfred had run out of chores to distract the boy with and had been unable to come up with anything else. "What is it you've found?" Alfred asked again, hoping the young man would find a way to answer.

Dick shrugged. "It seemed new. Like someone had just put it there. Does Bruce have more secrets he's decided not to tell me?"

Alfred was puzzled. Nothing had been put in the attic recently, at least, not to his knowledge. Bruce had never kept anything from him before. He paused a moment on the staircase, considering. The pause nearly drove Dick wild.

"C'mon, Alfred. I want to know what's up there."

"Have you considered, young man, that I may not know what it is? Alfred gazed at his charge quizzically.

Dick blinked. That thought hadn't occurred to him. He'd figured, and rightly so, that Bruce and Alfred were close. Too close to allow secrets. 

He smiled at Alfred. "We'll never know if you don't come upstairs."

Bruce tried again to think of an alternate route home, but every road he took and turn he made seemed to lead directly to more traffic. He only hoped he was worrying over nothing. It was hard not to allow his vivid imagination to control his thoughts. He sat silently behind the wheel as visions of incredible devastation and horror appeared before his eyes. Unable to control himself, Bruce leaned on the horn adding to the cacophony of Gotham's traffic nightmare.

Alfred reached the door to the attic moments after Dick. The younger man leaned on t he door and it creaked open dramatically. "I see I'll have to oil that." Alfred hoped he would remember the task.

"Follow me," Dick remarked unnecessarily.

Alfred peered around the boy, gazing at the carefully packed and marked boxes. Each had been labeled by his own hand. Some had not seen the light of day since before Bruce had lost his parents. Others, like the holiday decorations, were surrounded by scuff marks and paths in the dust indicating the frequency of their use. "I suppose I will also have to dust in here with more regularity."

Bruce Wayne had finally managed to exit Gotham proper and now sped along the road that would lead directly to Wayne Manor. He hoped against hope that he'd reached a ridiculous conclusion, but the speed with which he took a particularly hazardous curve indicated his unwillingness to believe he was wrong. He could see it now. Wayne Manor was directly ahead of him. He might just make it.

"This way, Alfred. Over by the window." Dick weaved around the crates and boxes leading Alfred to the attic window. There on top of a stack of creates right in front of the floor to ceiling window was a small box. It had no dust on it and looked for all the world like a new addition to the collection of bric-a-brac that people collect and never part with. Examining the box and the surrounding area, Alfred also noticed that the window had recently been opened. He could see quite clearly, an impression in the dust shaped like a hand. The window had been open, but who had opened it?

"Did you open the window on your last visit up here?"

"What? No. Why?" Dick was confused by the question until he noticed the hand prints as well. "Maybe Bruce did."

Alfred didn't think so, but decided to ask him later. "Well, what is this little box, then Master Dick?"

Dick looked at him eagerly. "Let's open it." With that he took the box in his hands and began to pry up the top.

"Oh, Master Dick, I don't know if that's wise." Alfred was wishing he hadn't agreed to come up here. "Let me open it." Alfred put a hand over Dick's.

Bruce Wayne pulled up in front of his house in a spray of leaves. He climbed out of the car and headed for the front door. He'd park the car in the garage as soon As he'd proven his fears were groundless. Pausing at the front steps, he felt compelled to look up. Just as he did, a tremendous explosion rocked the top portion of the house. Debris rained down on Bruce forcing him to cover his head. When most of it had fallen, he chanced a look up. Flames and smoke spewed out of what used to be his attic. Bruce reached into his car, picked up the car phone and dialed 9-1-1. He quickly reported the fire and requested an ambulance. Then he dashed inside to find his family.

  
TBC


	3. Part 3

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. Just borrowing. Made no money!

Trial by Fire Part 3

By Ecri

Flames licked the walls painting the room in an eerie red-orange glow. The items stored in the attic had been there a long time and some had not been touched in years...or decades. The boxes and their contents, helped by the old, yellowed, crumbled newspapers with which the more delicate items had been wrapped, went up quickly and passed the fire on to other parts of the room. The floor itself was on fire in some places. Smoke curled and twisted like a live thing trying to escape what was left of the room. 

Dick came to lying on the floor. His face, mercifully, was inadvertently pressed into the crook of his elbow protecting him from smoke. Unfortunately, he woke unaware of that fact and the first thing he did was inhale deeply. Coughing for several minutes, he tried to look around and get his bearings, but found he couldn't really recognize anything. Alfred, he thought, I have to find Alfred. He'd grown to like the old man and the thought of something happening to him terrified Dick. Besides that, he wasn't going to tell Bruce that Alfred was injured or dead. That struck Dick as a good way to end up the same way himself.

As the coughing settled down, Dick took a more shallow breath and called to Alfred. "Al, hey, Al! Where are you?" Dick got the response he'd expected: none. He d have to do this the hard way. Crawling around on the floor, trying to stay low enough so as not to breath in too much more smoke, Dick put one hand out before him, trying to feel if Alfred had fallen somewhere nearby. He'd been standing right next to Alfred when the explosion...what had exploded? Dick tried to remember just what had happened, but it was all a blur. He shrugged it off. He'd probably remember later when he and Alfred were swapping stories in the ER. Dick only hoped someone had seen what had happened and had called the Fire Department. He wasn't going to stop looking for Al now, and the house would surely go up if someone didn't get here soon.

Dick had to stop again. The smoke was getting thicker. He couldn't see anything. He tried to suppress another fit of coughing. Then, miraculously, the smoke seemed to clear a bit and there, not two feet in front of him, was Alfred. "Al!" Dick was so excited, he nearly rose from the floor. Catching himself in time, he crawled forward slowly, and grabbed a hold of Alfred's shoulders. Slowly he dragged the old man toward him, inching them both across the floor and towards the staircase. It took longer than Dick expected because he had to go around burning boxes and fallen rafters. Alfred was a dead weight, although Dick discouraged himself from using that imagery. The butler didn't seem to be able to move on his own. He hadn't opened his eyes at all. Dick almost wished he would cough once so he'd know the old guy was still around. 

When they finally reached the staircase, Dick began the arduous task of lowering Alfred down one step at a time. He took the lead himself not wanting to risk lowering Al into a hole or flame or whatever. He reasoned that, even if he couldn't see too well right now, he'd certainly feel it if he stepped in flames. Alfred might not be aware of it at all.

Dick crawled awkwardly down the staircase. One step. Left knee. Right knee. Alfred. Left knee. Right knee. Alfred. He'd gone halfway to the first landing before he had to take a break. Dick wanted to wipe his face. He could feel sweat start to trickle into one eye, but he didn't dare let go of Alfred. He tried to angle his head to wipe his eye with his shoulder, but that produced minimal results. After a moment, he continued downward, afraid to stay in one place too long. Left knee. Right knee. Alfred. Left knee. Right knee. Alfred.

By the time Dick had made it to the second landing, he was having trouble keeping a grip on the situation. Alfred was heavier than Dick had thought. The smoke was choking him, blinding him. His throat was so dry it ached to breathe. His chest felt heavier with every breath he took. Still he was determined to save Alfred.

A loud creaking sound penetrated Dick's fatigued brain. He found it hard to listen intently and continue on his downward route, but he was too afraid to stop. The heat was increasing if that were possible. Fearing the worst, Dick tried to see through the smoke, which was now also getting more intense. Pausing a moment to adjust his grip on Al, he heard the creaking sound again, only this time it was louder and more ominous. Dick knew his time was growing short. If only he could get Al down the next few flights of stairs. Maybe the fire hadn't spread that far. With a grunt and another shift in his position, Dick again began his descent. 

Bruce Wayne had searched the first floor and had begun to climb up to search the second, when the firefighters arrived. They'd dashed into the open door and had cut Bruce off before he could dash up the steps. 

"Anyone else in the house?" The firefighter was an intense man, near 40 years old with intelligent eyes.

Bruce nodded. "I think so. I haven't found them yet. An older man named Alfred and a teenaged boy, Dick Grayson. There was an explosion. It looked like it came from the attic." Bruce moved to go up, but his path was blocked by several firefighters running in with axes and hoses at the ready. 

"Hey, where can we hook up these hoses?" A younger man stood by the door leaning into the house with one hand on the doorframe. 

Bruce knew he couldn't search for his friends now. These people were trained to do it. He'd have to let them. "I'll show you. Wayne Manor has a private water supply." Without another word, Bruce led the man outside to the fire hydrant, which was positioned at the side of the house. There was another by the garage and another by the stables. Hopefully, it wouldn't spread that far.

Bruce watched in a daze as the men and women moved with a quick precision into the house. The hoses were on and while several firefighters aimed theirs at the attic, several others had begun hosing down the house and grounds to keep the fire from spreading. With all the noise and shouting going on, Bruce knew as soon as he heard the sound, that he shouldn't have been able to hear it. Still, it was clear and distinct to him. It snapped his head up and he stared at the flames shooting several feet into the air. His throat constricted, whether from smoke or some other cause he could not say. In a choked near whisper, Bruce uttered a single word. "Alfred."

Dick was dazed. He was having trouble concentrating. His limbs were getting heavier. His coughing spells were getting longer. He'd made it down to another landing and had stopped. He knew he should go on, and he would in a minute. He hadn't let go of Alfred, somehow he couldn't. He looked up now; hoping the smoke would be slightly dissipated. He was rewarded with the sight of the ceiling, which he was sure would have crashed down around his ears by now. Like the rest of my life. He shook his head to clear it. Where that thought had come from, he really didn't want to consider. Come on, you have work to do. He chastised himself for taking too long a rest. He must have been on that landing a good 15 seconds. A lifetime. As he descended, Dick became aware of movement below him. Straining to look while continuing downward, he though he saw a figure down there. No, it was several figures. He saw a large hat, an ax, and at least two or three people. Score one for the cavalry, or the firefighters, as the case may be. Just as he was about to shout in relief, something made him look up. A large section of the staircase above him was shaking violently. Dick could see flames had eaten through the wood in places and were hungrily devouring what was left. As he looked, he saw it getting closer. That was when he realized it was falling. Knowing he could save himself if he let go of Alfred and rolled blindly down the staircase, Dick never even considered doing such a thing. Instead, He threw himself up just enough to as much of Al as he could with his body. Eyes clamped shut, Dick yelled like his father and taught him "A little vocalization of the fear could help you relieve the pressure, son. It might even improve your concentration." That thought played in Dick's mind over and over, up until the time he felt himself falling. Then, unable to help himself as the aerialists worst fear played out and he was plummeting who knew how far, Dick passed out.

Commissioner Gordon sat at his desk trying to work out what to do about Bruce Wayne's stubbornness. The man was going to let himself be killed and there wasn't much Gordon could do about it. He pondered the Riddler's latest literary endeavor. The officers he'd sent to the stadium had reported nothing unusual. They'd searched everywhere, but had found nothing amiss, not even in the Wayne industries box seats which were being used by some of Wayne's employees. Apparently the man allowed everyone in his employ to go to one game a season in the company seats. Not a bad fringe benefit.

A knock sounded on the door to his office. Gordon knew who it would be. "Come in." He closed the file on his desk prepared to receive his secretary's run down on the events of the day. He was quite surprised, however, when the person at his door turned out to be Dr. Chase Meridian. "Doctor, what can I do for you?" He rose and put out his hand. Then he noticed how agitated she seemed to be.

"Commissioner, I just heard there's a fire at Wayne Manor. One of your officers was about to come in and tell you, but I said I would. I'm going down there anyway. I thought you might want to go with me."

Gordon barely answered. Grabbing his jacket, he ran for the door of his office, taking the good doctor's arm in one hand. "I'll get us there faster." Soon they were in a patrol car, lights flashing, siren blaring, and speeding down the highway towards the largest residential structure in Gotham. Before they were halfway there, they could already see the orange glow of flame and the black belching smoke. "Oh my God." was all Chase could whisper as she heard the commissioner order the patrolman to drive faster. She only hoped it was fast enough.

The ambulances were as close to the building as was safe. Bruce stood right between them staring stoically at the door to his home. This was the best place to be to see Alfred and Dick when they were finally pulled out of there. He had rarely been this scared in all his life. He couldn't imagine life without Alfred. Alfred had always been there for him. He would have been able to live without air before he could adjust to Alfred's absence. And Dick was another matter entirely. He already blamed himself for Dick's family's demise. Adding Dick to the list of people he'd managed to kill or hurt in his lifetime would push him over the edge, and he knew it.

There was activity now near the door, Bruce took a few steps forward and, sure enough, he could just make out a shape being carried over the shoulder of a firefighter. The paramedics were there immediately with a stretcher ready. They administered oxygen to the firefighter as well. Breaking into a run, Bruce pushed through several of the people who were running to and from the house. He didn't want to disturb the paramedics, but he had to see who they had pulled out of the inferno that was once his home.

Peering around the shoulder of one of the medical professionals, Bruce finally identified the patient. "Alfred!" He yelled in relief. Tears ran down his face freely in a release he hadn't known he was capable of producing. He quickly answered any questions the medics had about Alfred's general health.

As they loaded his old friend into one of the waiting ambulances, Bruce could constrain himself no longer. "How is he?" 

The medic looked up at him, brushing a strand of hair back from her eyes. "He's lucky. It could have been a lot worse." Seeing Bruce's relief, she hastened to add, "He's not out of the woods yet. It could be touch and go for a while. Do you want to go with him?" she asked, as they were about to shut the ambulance door. 

Bruce considered it, but shook his head. "No, I have to wait to seeI have to wait."

  
TBC


	4. Part 4

I still don't own them and am making no money or any other profit from this story. 

Thanks to all who reviewed. It's nice to know someone is reading!

Trial by Fire Part 4

By Ecri

With a nod, the medic slammed the door and banged it twice as a signal to the driver, who then wasted no time pulling out. As the ambulance left, Bruce followed it with his eyes and noticed another shape driving closer to the mansion. There, coming up the drive, was a police car. It pulled right up to the house, and before it could fully stop, out climbed Chase Meridian and Commissioner Gordon.

Chase left the car door swinging and dashed over to Bruce's side. "We saw the ambulance..." she let it trail, not sure what she should say or how she could ask.

Bruce saved her the trouble. "Alfred. It looked pretty bad." His eyes were drawn again to the house, where more shouting was added to the general cacophony. "Dick is still in there."

Chase held Bruce's arm and squeezed, trying to offer her own strength and what comfort she could. Please, let them be okay, she thought. All three of them.

Then there was a general rush of firefighters to the door. Several had been overcome by the smoke and had to be helped to the paramedics. Then, there in the midst of it all, Bruce could make out another form in a fireman's carry. That had to be Dick. He tried to run forward, but was confused when something stopped him. Turning, he saw that Commissioner Gordon had joined Chase. Gordon had a vice-like grip on Bruce's arm effectively restraining him. Gordon's eyes locked on Bruce's. "Let them work." He gestured towards the medics running and scurrying around, getting equipment and trying to see if Dick was conscious and coherent. "They'll call you if they need you."

Bruce nodded and tried to control his anxiety, which seemed to be increasing. He could see one of the medics trying to talk to Dick, but he couldn't tell if he'd answered. As Bruce watched, Dick seemed to get agitated. Simultaneously trying to sit up and pull away from the people who were trying to help, he finally subsided in a fit of coughing. This time, there was no holding Bruce back.

Running to Dick's side, he knelt in the grass near enough to touch Dick, but unsure if he should. "What is it? What's wrong?" He spoke to the paramedic but his eyes never left Dick's face.

"He's asking about the other man we pulled out. He wants to know if he's ok." Bruce noticed some of the other paramedics seemed to be concentrating on Dick's hands, but before he could ask, the medic went on. "He seems to be suffering from smoke inhalation, some burns, and a blow to the head. Probably a concussion. We'll know more when we get him to the hospital.

"Burns? On his hands?" Bruce hoped it wasn't serious enough to keep the boy off the trapeze. Being grounded permanently would kill him.

The paramedic looked confused. She looked in direction of the knot of paramedics and firefighters, who were indeed working intently on Dick's hands. She smiled. "No, we don't think his hands are burned, but...well maybe you can help." She cleared a space for Bruce to see. There was a medic working intently with scissors while two firefighters held Dick's hands still. No small feat since Dick hadn't stopped struggling since he'd been pulled from the house. Bruce tried to get a better look, but was only able to when they'd all pulled away to get the stretcher ready to carry Dick to the waiting ambulance. Still clutched in Dick's hands were remnants of fabric. Confused, Bruce looked at the medic. "What is that?"

She reached over and produced a large section of cloth, shredded, torn, burned, and still smoking in places. "That's what's left of this." She shook out the cloth and Bruce could see it was a jacket. Alfred's jacket. "When we found them, the kid was still holding on. We had to remove the jacket to get the old man out. We still can't get him to let go."

Bruce had been on the other side of that grip. He knew Dick was stronger than most people thought. He had been trained all his life not to let go and, Bruce knew, he never did. 

He leaned forward, kneeling at Dick's side. "Dick, it's okay. You can let go now." For a moment, Bruce thought it wouldn't work. Dick's face contorted in concentration. Bruce repeated his plea, adding, "It's me, Bruce." When Dick heard the name, he seemed to relax a little. He opened his eyes for just an instant, and Bruce wasn't sure if he actually had seen anything, but he did finally release the cloth. Bruce stepped back and allowed the paramedics to take his friend away.

Dick woke with a start. His heart was racing and his eyes were wide. He felt a firm but gentle pressure on his shoulders forcing him down. Blinking to focus his eyes, he took in his surroundings with a glance. There were doctors and nurses clustered around him. He wasn't sure how many of each. They were mostly talking amongst themselves, but one was forcing him to lay back down on the table. The kindness in her eyes made him feel a little better, but he still had to ask.

"Alfred..." he started but was surprised that he could barely hear his own voice. His throat felt raw and hot. As soon as he tried to speak, he began to cough, and before it could subside, he was sure he would cough up a lung. When he could finally breathe, he tried again, much slower, and taking in as little breath as he could. This time, the woman understood him. 

"Your friend is in the next room. There are other doctors with him, now." She held a finger to her lips when Dick tried to speak again. "Try not to speak now. Conserve your strength."

Dick tried to nod, but wasn't sure it came across too well. In any event, he wasn't really able to do anything about that, since the partial nod preceded his return to unconsciousness.

Edward Nygma laughed with glee as he watched the news reports. It was much better than he'd ever anticipated. The small bomb he'd managed to sneak into the house–thanks to some well planned distractions, and a little climbing equipment–he'd had results that could prove to Bruce just how much smarter it would be to quit pretending he was better than Nygma himself. He hadn't expected anyone to get hurt, but he could use that. Bruce would be upset, maybe scared, and certainly ready to negotiate their long-awaited partnership.

Of course, all of this was only one part of the plan. The rest would shock even Gotham–a city that had come to accept costumed villains and heroes as the norm.

Selina Kyle watched the evening news in shock and consternation. She remembered being in Bruce's home, and to see it burn before her eyes was painful in some ways. Catwoman had a different reaction to the news. Deep down, in some dark corner of her being, Selina felt a purr of satisfaction, combined with an irrational jealousy and protectiveness. This conflagration had obviously not been an accident. That meant someone had caused it. Bruce Wayne was no cat's toy but her own! How dare someone try to take her toys? She would have to stop them, and that would mean a hunt. The Cat smiled even as Selina let out a groan of despair. 

Bruce stood by Alfred as long as he was permitted. Unfortunately, it was not long before the interns rushed Alfred to surgery. Bruce sat in the waiting room, or family lounge, as they now termed it. No matter what new nomenclature was used, rooms like this would always reek of anxiety, fear, and tension.

Both Alfred and Dick had been lucky. He knew that, but it didn't help matters. They had both escaped serious burns. Alfred had apparently struck his head on something from the force of the explosion and had lost a lot of blood. The paramedics were equally certain that Dick had struck his head as well, but seemed to believe it had something to do with the stairs. They both suffered from severe smoke inhalation and they probably both had a concussion as well. Any further injuries would only be detected after a more thorough examination than the paramedics could provide.

Knowing he could do nothing to help his friends, Bruce concentrated on figuring out how this could have been done. Obviously, the Riddler had planted explosives in the house. The question was how had he done this? The grounds were certainly secure. He had one of the best security systems in existence. The gates, guard dogs, motion detectors, and surveillance equipment were only the tip of the iceberg. How had Nygma breached his security?

As he pondered it all, he became vaguely aware of someone standing next to him. Then there was a cup of steaming coffee in his face. He looked up into Chase's concerned visage and nodded in gratitude as he accepted the cup. She sat down next to him. "I spoke to the doctors. They don't really have any information on Alfred. It may be a couple of hours."

"I know. Thanks for...being here. It means a lot to me to know I'm not alone." His eyes locked on hers. For a moment he looked like such a little boy, Chase felt her heart skip a beat.

The professional side of her shook off her emotional response. Stop it. she thought. He needs you to be here, so be here! "How did you know they were in trouble? You said you knew something was going to happen..."

He showed her the riddle. "Here's how I knew. Subtle little bastard isn't he?" The edge to his voice startled Chase and she felt sorry for the Riddler, or indeed anyone who dared hurt the people Bruce cared about. Somehow between the time when Nygma had escaped from Arkham and now...this had escalated. The Riddler had been out to destroy Bruce Wayne. Now, he'd hurt others, but was it intentional or had they been caught in the crossfire?

"Mr. Wayne?" The doctor approached carefully, trying not to disturb them.

Bruce stood immediately, eyes wide. "Yes?"

"Mr. Pennyworth is still in surgery, but you can see Mr. Grayson now." He walked with Bruce and Chase to Dick's door, apprising them of Dick's condition. "He's a fortunate young man. It could have been much worse. He's being treated for smoke inhalation, some minor burns on his arm, and a rather nasty gash on his left leg. He lost a lot of blood, so he's a little weak." 

"I'll wait out here." Chase felt awkward going in with Bruce. She felt they should speak privately first.

Bruce barely seemed to hear. He walked straight into the room without responding to either Chase or the Doctor.

TBC


	5. Part 5

Thanks for all the reviews. I'm glad you're enjoying it.

Disclaimer: I don't own them. I didn't make any money. I've just borrowed them.

Trial by Fire Part 5

By Ecri

The room was dark. Low lighting was probably better for Dick right now, if not physically, then emotionally. "Dick?" Bruce whispered. Bruce eased himself into the room and closed the door. He stepped over to Dick's bedside. In the dim light with his eyes closed, Dick seemed younger to Bruce than he ever had before. "Dick?" Bruce's voice was just above a whisper.

Dick's eyes fluttered, and then were open. He smiled weakly. "Alfred..."

"He's fine." Not technically the truth, but then Bruce wasn't quite sure what the truth was. He sat gingerly on the bed wanting to reassure his young friend, but not wanting to touch him in case he inadvertently caused some pain.

Dick's eyes cleared slightly. "It was a bomb." 

Bruce nodded. "The Riddler."

"What do we do now?"

"You rest. I...think of something." Bruce knew it wasn't an answer--certainly not one Dick wanted to hear. 

"Don't count me out yet." As he spoke, Dick seemed able to take on the world. The illusion was shattered as he began to cough again. 

Bruce gave him some water. "Dick, no one's counting you out, but you've got to rest. The sooner the doctors release you, the sooner we can try to figure this out."

Dick nodded reluctantly. Bruce set down the water glass and patted Dick's hand giving him a few more words of encouragement. As he rose to leave, he felt a sudden crushing pain in his hand. Looking down he saw Dick clutching his hand with a white-knuckled grip. He hadn't been aware that Dick had taken his hand, let alone that he had so much strength left after what he'd been through. He turned his gaze to Dick, who suddenly seemed much more fragile than he usually did. 

"You're not ...not leaving, are you?" Dick tried to keep his voice steady and was horrified when it cracked. His heart was pounding in his chest as if it would have burst right through the flesh if his rib cage hadn't effectively imprisoned it.

"I have to. Visiting hours are over." As Bruce disentangled his hand, he tried to reassure his young friend. "I'll be back tomorrow. I promise."

Again, Dick nodded. He watched Bruce leave returning his friend's wave with a feeble one of his own. When Bruce had departed, he felt his own strength, physical and otherwise, leave him. He lay in his bed staring at the ceiling for a long time. Don't blink, he thought. Don't blink. He felt the hot sting of would-be tears welling up in his eyes. He could barely see the ceiling any longer through the blurry haze that had become his vision. He tried to hold it back. Just as he tried to hold back the feeling of dread that had encompassed him when Bruce had sidestepped his question about Alfred. He wanted desperately to pass out or something so he wouldn't have to deal with this reality any longer. What if Al... NO! Don't even think it! He knew he'd lost the battle when he felt one lone tear trickle down his cheek. He wiped angrily at his eye, furious that he'd succumbed to what he perceived as a weakness. He continued staring at the ceiling thinking of Alfred and what he might have been able to do differently to save his friend. He could think of a thousand things...if he hadn't insisted on going to the attic; if he had been able to recognize the bomb for what it was a few moments earlier. He continued chasing his tail as the minutes passed, and, for one of the few times in his young life, Richard Grayson knew real fear.

Commissioner Gordon stood on the rooftop of City Hall watching the sky expectantly. It had never taken this long before. He had no idea where Batman came from, but it usually didn't take him quite so long to come from there. His thoughts drifted to the events of the night. Bruce Wayne had been through quite a bit tonight, as had his companions. The damage to Wayne Manor would cost him a pretty penny, but Gordon supposed that hadn't really been a concern for the billionaire playboy anyway. Gordon hoped they could capture The Riddler before another attempt was made to destroy Bruce Wayne. If only Wayne would agree to some protection! Some police officers patrolling the grounds of Wayne Manor might have prevented this.

Even as he thought it, he knew he was kidding himself. What would his officers have done to stop the explosion? Someone like the Riddler was determined enough to kill Bruce Wayne if he really wanted to do it. He was simply toying with the man first, letting him know that he was alive at the whim of a madman.

"Commissioner." The familiar, deep voice startled Gordon. 

"Batman, thanks for coming. There's been an attempt..."

"...To kill Bruce Wayne." Batman interrupted.

Gordon shook his head in amazement. "How did you know?" He knew the reports of the fire at Wayne Manor were all over the TV news by now, but only a few people knew the cause of the conflagration.

"That's not important, Commissioner. Do you have any other information?"

"Only that Mr. Wayne received a riddle before the explosion The Riddler is still after him." As he handed over the tape Wayne had received, Gordon noticed that Batman had come alone. He'd been hoping to meet the man's new partner, but so far the opportunity had not presented itself. He'd read very little about the newest member of Batman's team. He'd apparently entered the Gotham City crime scene around the time that The Riddler had been put away. There was speculation, of course. The media were dying for a good look, as was the public. Police officers were of two minds about the whole thing. Some didn't support Batman. They were anything but happy at the prospect of another vigilante crime fighter. Others welcomed the help. Gordon was sorry to admit that there were too few of this second category, undoubtedly due to the fact that there were too many crooked cops in Gotham.

Batman nodded. "Then I'll get to work. Call me if you uncover any new information." Batman was about to leave when something caught his eye. A shadow against shadow, it seemed to watch him and the commissioner, but when he looked again, he saw nothing. Shrugging off the feeling, he nodded to the Commissioner and leaped from the building, disappearing from view.

Commissioner Gordon switched off the Bat signal, but sat for a few moments on the dark, dismal roof.

Catwoman peered intently at the spectacle of two grown men, one dressed as a bat, chatting on the rooftops of Gotham as if it were the most normal thing in the entire world. She froze when it seemed that Batman stared right at her. It wouldn't do for her to lose the element of surprise. Batman had no idea she was in town. She would keep it that way.

Batman sat in the Batmobile listening to the engine power down. He hadn't wanted to answer the commissioner's signal, but, in the end, had given in to his sense of duty. He had known what the commissioner would tell him. All he'd really gotten out of all of this was a chance to put the day behind him. He'd driven silently and had taken no pleasure in the arrests he had made. The truth was he'd stayed out longer than usual. It was almost dawn as he sat there in the car. He knew why, but he was only now admitting it to himself. He'd never been in the house alone before and he wasn't sure he wanted to be now. Without Alfred's reassuring presence and Dick's...boisterousness...the house was unnatural. Knowing he had little choice, he climbed out of the Batmobile, put away his Batsuit and climbed the stairs to the main part of the house. He tried not to listen to his echoing footsteps.

Bruce had told the police commissioner that he would stay in Gotham's Grand Hotel this evening. He'd intended to keep his word, knowing the fire had made Wayne Manor, at least temporarily, unlivable, but somehow, he'd had to return to Wayne Manor in the light of dawn to see the damage for himself. The attic was completely gone. That much he knew. He tried not to think of the mementos of a lifetime that had been devoured in a burst of flame. Christmas ornaments. Old trunks full of his parents things. Things he may not have touched everyday, but he'd found their presence oddly comforting over the years. How much of the floor just beneath the attic had been lost? He knew the stairs had collapsed, most likely while Dick and Alfred had been on them.

He cringed at the thought of his friends tumbling uncontrollably down when the supports gave way, then marveled that Dick had been able to hold onto Alfred during the entire thing. The paramedics had told him that the older man's shoulders were bruised from Dick's unbreakable grasp. They'd also mentioned that several of Dick's abrasions and wounds were across his back, shoulders and the back of his head, as if he had attempted to shield Alfred with his body when things began to fall apart. Bruce shook his head. Dick was loud and obnoxious, and sometimes seemed to cultivate the appearance of selfishness, but, when it came to his friends, it was best not to get in his way.

Bruce glanced around at the first floor of the home he'd cherished all of his life. There was some water damage from the fire hoses, and several of the priceless artifacts could be priced at few dollars in their current state. He'd have to get a contractor in here to begin repairs. The good thing about being a billionaire was that he could be pretty certain that if he requested that the work be finished quickly, it would be.

He hoped to be underway before Dick was released from the hospital, and, perhaps, finished before Alfred's release. So lost in these thoughts was he, that he was unaware that he was no longer alone.

"It'll take some time to repair, won't it?" A soft, concerned voice penetrated the depths of his thoughts. He whirled around as if shot. He'd never had anyone sneak up on him that way, and was relieved to find that it was Chase.

"Chase. How did you..."

Chase gestured back towards the front door–or what remained of it. Off the hinges and standing to one side, it remained exactly where the firefighters had left it after they had broken it down. Bruce nodded. "Of course. I'd forgotten."

"Bruce, would you like to stay with me until this is settled? I'd hate for you to be alone just now."

Bruce smiled. "Professional advice or personal concern?"

"A little of both." She sobered, looking at the pain in his eyes. "Seriously, Bruce. You can stay with me."

Nodding, Bruce took her hand. "I know. Thanks." Before either of them knew it, they were in an embrace, Bruce at first squeezing the breath from Chase, then, breaking down as great sobs tore from his soul. He'd almost lost Alfred. Alfred, who'd been there with him before the bottom had fallen out of his life. Who'd been there to help, to criticize, and to piece him back together when he'd nearly been torn apart. And Dick. The boy had come to mean a lot to him in a short period of time. Maybe he felt responsible for what had happened to the boy's family, but it went deeper than that. They were partners–and not just in fighting crime. He'd taken on a role as the boy's mentor. He wanted to keep him from making the same mistakes Bruce had made. He wanted to see that he lived his life.

Chase soothed him as best she could, cradling his head on her shoulder as she sank down to the floor, helping him to give himself the emotional release that, she was sure, had been building for years. The man needed her, she was certain. He needed someone to look after his psyche as well as he looked after his physical body, as well as he looked after Wayne Enterprises. She only hoped she was up for the job.

Green light blinked unsteadily as a high-pitched giggle seemed to fill the small room. The narrow, cramped space left no room to maneuver, but had been a necessity when Batman had destroyed the Riddler's true lair. Sometimes the Riddler was irked at Batman's stupidity. Could the Caped Crusader really believe that locking him up in that feeble asylum would end the matter? Didn't he realize that the Riddler, and Edward Nygma, had unfinished business in Gotham. His biggest problem was, of course, whose business took precedence: The Riddler's quest to destroy Batman or Nygma's desire to bring an end to Bruce Wayne's pitiful life? Still, he'd given Nygma one...now it was the Riddler's turn.

As he considered his next move and contemplated his next riddle, he became aware of a soft scratching sound. He shook his head to snap his concentration back to the problem at hand. The scratching grew louder, more persistent. "PUH-lease! I'm trying to work here!" He addressed the entire room, disdain apparent in his voice. 

The scratching ceased. Satisfied, he returned to work.

Crack! The sound startled him. He looked quickly around the room. 

"Meow." 

"Who said that?" Nygma was sure he was alone, but somehow he'd heard someone say meow, not a cat's purr, but a mimic of one. A low, sultry, sexy...his mind wandered. The second meow snapped him right back to the here and now.

"Did I startle you?" asked that same low, sultry, sexy...

The Riddler laughed. "No, of course not! I always expect a woman in vinyl to be lurking in the shadows of my lair." 

Catwoman smiled and moved out of the shadows allowing the Riddler to get a better look at her. The Riddler took the vision in stride...he forgot to breathe. "You've been a busy boy, haven't you? I've got news for you...leave Bruce Wayne alone. I was here first."

Who was this creature? Nygma wracked his brains trying to remember. He had heard something somewhere about a woman with a whip and a crazy outfit... "You're the Catwoman I've heard so much about." Nygma was irritated with himself for stating the obvious . It was the sort of dumb thing he usually would never do. Still she had surprised him. Now was as good a time as any to try to forge a union with her, but first he had to lay a few ground rules.

"Bruce Wayne is fair game, my sweet kitten. As is Batman." He felt compelled to lay claim to Batman. He had to be the one to bring an end to that chapter of Gotham's history, regardless of how some female feline felt about it.

Catwoman's head snapped up and she looked deeply into the Riddler's eyes. "What about Batman?"

"I have plans for him. Painful, humiliating...deadly plans. For him and for his sidekick." 

Catwoman's eyes narrowed in suspicion. She felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. "What are you talking about? Batman works alone."

The Riddler smiled. He had the upper hand. Information was not a cheap commodity. This particular information was hardly a secret around Gotham, but he believed he was the only person in the city who had actually met the Bat's brat. Commissioner Gordon had admitted to the press that he hadn't yet had the pleasure. "You've been away from Gotham for too long. The Bat has enlarged the circles he flies inby one. The boy's name is Robin."

"Mmmm." Catwoman stretched lazily, considering this new information. "A tasty morsel. I love poultry."

A slow, sinister smile spread across Riddler's Face. "We have a lot to discuss, my feline friend." He paused for effect. "I have a plan."

Bruce Wayne signed the last of the papers and handed the clipboard back to the assistant who handed them to him. "So, that's it? He can go now?"

"Sure thing," she smiled. "He can't wait to get out of here, too, I can tell you! We caught him wandering the halls three times over the last two days!" 

Bruce smiled at the thought. It wasn't easy to get the boy to do anything he didn't want to do. Bruce walked towards the hospital room where he expected to find Dick and, instead, almost walked right into him as he came out into the hallway. Seeing Bruce, he grinned. "Let's get outta here!" He said enthusiastically. 

Bruce started towards the elevator. "Wait." Dick's voice stopped him. He turned towards Dick. "Can we go and see Alfred first?" 

Bruce hesitated, but knew he shouldn't keep the boy in the dark for too long. With a nod, he accompanied Dick to the Intensive Care Unit. He considered allowing Dick to go in alone, but knew he had to explain what was wrong with their friend. As they stood by Alfred's bedside, Bruce explained the medical terms he'd come to know so well recently. 

Dick nodded, understanding only a portion of what he'd been told. "My fault." he whispered so low that Bruce had to strain to hear what he said. "I remember it all so clearly now. I was curious about a box in the attic." Bruce inhaled. Had they been in the attic when the bomb exploded? That's where it had started! He waited for Dick to continue. He didn't have to wait long. Staring at Alfred's face, carefully bandaged and being fed oxygen through a tube, Dick's whisper was almost too low to be heard.

"I made him go up there with me. I wanted to know what it was because it looked new. I was going to force it open, but Al took it from me. He was confused by the handprints in the dust by the window. He said he hadn't thought you'd been up there recently. Then he turned it over and we saw the question mark. He put it back on the window sill and told me to run. Go downstairs as fast as I could. I told him I'd throw the thing out the window. He said no we didn't know what it would do or when it would happen. He wanted us to wait outside. Call you on the car phone or something. He dragged me into the hall and we started down the steps. I should have listened to him right away. I should have made sure we got out of there."

With a deep breath and a shudder, Dick turned to leave the room. Bruce caught his arm. Staring directly into the boy's eyes until he was sure he would listen, he told him the only fact he was sure about since this all had happened. "You didn't do this." Bruce could see surprise on Dick's face. He'd been preparing to wallow in self-pity and a deep, though misguided sense of failed responsibility. Bruce wouldn't let him, because he'd done that himself for years; blaming himself for his parents' death had almost destroyed him. He had weathered survivor's syndrome for decades, only recently, through Chase's help, had he been able to come to grips with it all and forgive himself for living when they had died. He knew Dick was still dealing with exactly that where his family's death was concerned. He knew Dick had convinced himself that, if he'd managed to get back to his family quicker, then he'd have been able to save the m. He was wrong. 

"This was the Riddler's fault. He planted the bomb. You can't take the blame for this. Nygma is insane. He did it." Bruce put every ounce of his own convictions into what he said and was relieved to see that Dick didn't just shake him off. Instead the boy nodded and seemed to shake off his self-pity. Bruce draped an arm around the boy's shoulders and herded him back into the hallway.

Once at home, Bruce tried to fill Dick in on the progress done in repairing the house. "We've got quite a house full of carpenters and builders, that's for sure! The staircase is almost finished. Then they can move onto the attic. The water damage has nearly been repaired, and thankfully, the fire never spread beyond the house. We can move back into our rooms by the end of the week. Until then, I've set us up in the guest rooms on the first floor."

Dick nodded. "When do we hit the streets?"

Bruce inhaled. "I thought you should probably rest for a few more days."

Dick shook his head. "I've rested. Let's find the Riddler."

Bruce considered arguing with him, and opened his mouth to do so, but reconsidered. He could recall Alfred trying to stop him from pushing himself too far. He never listened either. Nodding, he and Dick wandered towards the secret entrance that would lead them to the Batcave.

Breaking glass. Alarms. Yelling. All the night sounds of Gotham. The Riddler soaked them up each and every evening contemplating what he would add to the din. He was after Batman tonight, and he was pretty sure the blind bat would be after him as well. 

He wandered around his new lair and sat himself down in front of his computer. He knew one thing only; his plans for world domination would remain on hold until he destroyed Batman! He keyed onto the we b news sources and reread an article about a charity gala being held at Gotham Hall. Raising money to keep the Gotham homeless shelters open, the event was sure to attract the elite of Gotham society. He'd heard that Batman and Robin were to attend, and, since his old friend would be there, he knew he just had to go himself.

Dick was irritated that they'd had no luck finding the Riddler for the last few days. He'd argued with Bruce about Batman and Robin attending the charity thing tonight, but Bruce was adamant. Robin would not be going out on his own. Batman had promised Commissioner Gordon and the press that Robin would be attending. Everyone was so excited to be meeting the Caped Crusader's newest ally that Bruce felt it wasn't something they could easily cancel. Especially since the fire at Wayne Manor was such a convenient excuse to keep Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson from coming.

Chase would be going alone to represent the Billionaire.

Dick was just adjusting his mask when Batman came up behind him. "Ready?"

"Sure," replied Robin. "Let's go." With that, Batman jumped into his car. The newest model of the Batmobile raced from the tunnel, clearing the way for Robin's new motorcycle. Together, side by side, they weaved through he streets of Gotham towards Gotham Hall.

Gossip Gerty stood by the front entrance to Gotham Hall. She was sorely disappointed that her favorite Gotham Playboy, Bruce Wayne would not be attending tonight's gala, but she was hopeful that Batman's promised introduction of Robin would make up for it. Most of the attendees had already gathered, but the journalists, if no one else, noticed Bruce Wayne's absence. Gerty had already interviewed Dr. Chase Meridian about Wayne. She'd gotten a quote about the damage to Wayne Manor, but little else. Gerty decided to move closer to the dais, believing that she'd finagle an introduction to the newly dubbed Dynamic Duo as soon as Commissioner Gordon and Batman had said a few words.

She positioned herself where Gordon would b e sure to see her and, of course feel obligated to make introductions. Gordon soon took the stage and motioned for attention.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, thanks for attending this Charity event. I'm sure you'll join me in welcoming Gotham's Guardians, Batman and Robin!" He stepped back applauding as Batman and Robin joined him on stage. Shaking each of their hands in turn, he motioned for Batman to step up to the mike and say a few words. 

"As the commissioner said, thank you for coming to support this worthy cause." Batman's deep voice penetrated all corners of the room and the naturally low pitch made those in attendance lean forward to catch each word. "I appreciate what you're all doing in the name of a good cause. You are the real heroes here." After some applause, Batman looked towards his masked companion and gestured for him to step forward. The boy did with some reluctance. 

"I know many of you have been curious about the company I keep. Let me introduce to you a fine young man who has dedicated his life to fighting crime. My partner. My friend, Robin." Deftly, he stepped back and herded his younger associate towards the microphone where he stood until the applause died down, not sure what to say. "Hi." he started, awkwardly. "I...I'm pleased to be here." 

Gerty could contain herself no longer. "Tell us young man, why do you fight crime?" 

Seeming genuinely surprised by the question Robin cleared his throat. "It seemed like the right thing to do, I guess." 

Batman stepped forward, sensing his protege was not comfortable with the attention. "Thank you all. Please give generously." He guided Robin towards the back of the stage where they had a few words with Commissioner Gordon.

"The Riddler has hit three jewelers in the past two nights," Gordon explained. "We're puzzled by only one thing. He's ignoring the jewels and taking only silver."

"Has he left any calling cards?" Batman knew there'd been no mention of them in the newspapers, but he suspected there'd been a desire to keep the general public from knowing that the Riddler had become so active lately.

"Yes, Batman, I've saved them for you." The commissioner handed Batman a police evidence bag with several riddles inside. "They're not so elaborate, but we still don't know what they mean. He must be building to something. Also, as far as I know there have been no more attempts on Bruce Wayne's life, and Mr. Wayne has promised to keep me informed."

"I certainly hope that he does." Batman glanced over at Robin, who fought from grinning at the absurdity of talking about yourself in the third person. "We'll get to work immediately, Commissioner Gordon." With that Batman turned and left with Robin close behind him. 

Gossip Gerty came running over to the commissioner. "Oh, did they leave?" She sounded dismayed. "I was hoping to speak to them!" 

"Gerty, I'm afraid the Dynamic Duo have other things to do than to give you your column inches." Gordon, however, continued to stare after the pair.

"Why silver?" Robin asked as they sped through the streets of Gotham. Batman in his latest Batmobile and Robin in his Redbird. They used high tech communication equipment that was concealed in Batman's cowl and in Robin's helmet. The Helmet was a variation of the red on black design of Robin's latest suit. It was made of the sturdiest material and tested well beyond pressures that would have cracked ordinary motorcycle helmets. Batman had insisted on that due to the excessive speeds he and Robin were forced to use in their pursuit of justice.

"Why would the Riddler break into all of those jewelers' and leave behind some of the most valuable gems, not to mention gold, in favor of silver." Robin was amazed that wealth did not seem to be a motivator in the robberies.

Batman sighed. He was so tired of trying to think like the Riddler--like any master criminal. "He needs it for something other than cash, Robin. The Riddler is a genius. He was already very intelligent before he used the box to become even more intelligent. He's building something that requires silver. Maybe as a power source, maybe as something else. I don't want to speculate until we have more facts."

Robin was exasperated, too. Racing slightly ahead of his mentor, he popped a wheelie to express his exasperation. "Whatever he's up to, why don't we just figure out where he is and bring him back to Arkham? If we catch him before he does whatever he's doing, then, it won't matter what his plans are."

Batman smiled. Robin liked things to be neatly tied up as quickly as possible. He himself preferred a more analytical approach. He didn't like to be caught off guard. Like the night...stopping himself from traveling down that road again, Batman was about to suggest they return to the Batcave and call it a night. They still had to analyze the Riddler's latest messages, after all; a task that would undoubtedly take them into the wee small hours, or, possibly, the way large hours, of the morning.

As he watched his partner, Batman saw a strange light envelope Robin. The light seemed to come from above, and Batman had little time to do more than hit the Batmobile's video recorders and veer to the left to avoid crashing into his tumbling companion. The light stopped the Redbird, which in turn caused Robin to lose control of his precious bike. Desperately trying to hold on and bring the deadweight of the Redbird to a controlled stop while not hitting any pedestrians, Robin swerved all over the road. Pedestrians and other motorists scattered out of his wildly unpredictable path. With the Redbird on it's side and skidding, Robin could see very little of what was around him and only hoped that no one would be hurt when he crashed. And crash, he was sure, was what he would do. 

Batman stared helplessly after his friend as he fought for control. He seemed to be expertly pulling the vehicle around objects and people, but Batman was sure that this was simply an incredible display of instinct and a certain amount of luck. Robin certainly couldn't see precisely where he was going, since the human brain couldn't process that fast, and even if he could see everything perfectly, he certainly couldn't steer the Redbird. 

Then, there in front of the boy, was a strut from the Gotham Bridge. A 20-foot wide steel support, unbreakable, and, certainly immobile, stood ominously before them. Batman felt his heart skip a beat as he watched his young companion heading straight for it.

TBC


	6. Trial by Fire part 6

Disclaimer: I don't own them. Just borrowing.

Thanks for the reviews. It's always a little uplifting to discover that someone's reading! 

Trial by Fire part 6

By Ecri

Robin felt the change in the terrain indicating that he was riding now on cobblestones. The oldest part of Gotham, still paved with an odd black cobblestone made from the rocks found on the banks of Gotham's only river was once a tourist area, but had quickly fallen into disrepair and seemed over run with an assortment of criminals, street gangs, and the homeless. Robin had been unsuccessful up to now in trying to slow the Redbird. He wanted to jump off all together, but sliding on its side as he was, his right leg was caught beneath the weight of the bike. If he could get back his balance, and force the bike upright–he'd be Superman.

Robin faced the direction the front of his bike faced, which, if he'd been properly riding, would have been the right side of the street. Looking again quickly back in the direction in which he was traveling, Robin recognized Gotham Bridge, or at least a part of it, looming ahead of him. Instinctively, looking again in the direction the front of his bike faced, he threw his weight in that direction, and with all his considerable strength, forced the bike to veer right. He would worry about where that would take him later.

Batman was stunned. In amazement, he watched Robin gain enough control of his bike to move it away from Gotham Bridge. Somehow, the boy was going to avoid a full collision with the steel monstrosity. With great relief, he slowed the Batmobile and veered in the direction the boy was headed, and once again felt his heart skip a beat. Robin, energy focused entirely on missing the bridge, was about to ram headfirst into a construction site. Improvements to the streets of Gotham had been approved ages ago, and work crews had been scattered around Gotham for weeks. Finished for the day, the Gotham Street Repair Department had left several police barricades complete with flashing lights, to mark where they'd piled the cobblestones, dirt, and some heavy equipment for the evening. Robin couldn't possibly see it. He certainly couldn't avoid it.

In desperation, wanting to give his friend every opportunity to live through this night, Batman raced to get to the construction site ahead of Robin. When he was within 20 feet of it, he reached forward and touched a switch on his dashboard. The Batmobile came with many nonstandard accessories. He only hoped he'd picked one that would give Robin a fighting chance.

From his awkward and unstable position, Robin tried to get his bearings, amazed that he had not yet killed himself. Trouble was that his helmet had hit the ground so many times, that the visor was now scratched and cracked, making it extremely difficult to make out what was going on around him. He thought he could make out the sound of the Batmobile, but he couldn't tell the direction. Finally, through the cracks, and flying dirt that coated his visor, he thought he could make out something. For a moment it looked like a construction site, but then suddenly it was all enveloped in a white cloud. Hitting the substance, he passed through it like it was a cloud, at first, but the deeper into the white foam he penetrated, Robin could feel his momentum decrease ever so slightly. Then a little more. Soon he seemed to be down to about 65 miles an hour. Then, with sudden force, he hit something solid, something he could not slide through. Feeling the sudden pain in his right shoulder, Robin opened his mouth in one of the loudest vocalizations of his young life.

Perched high above the scene of Robin's accident, The Riddler giggled deliriously. Leaping about, limbs twisting in an odd, macabre victory dance of his own devising, Riddler's frenetic movements and bright green costume contrasted sharply with the stoic, feminine figure seated on the building's ledge. Catwoman kept her attention on the scene below, noticing the Riddler only when his pathetic prancing took him into her line of sight. 

Finally, she could take no more. Reaching out in one fluid motion, she drew her claws across his flailing arm. Riddler whirled around and stared at her. His jaw had dropped open and stayed there, while his eyes, big as saucers, stared in disbelief at the tattered, shredded costume that hung bloodily from his right arm. Before he could say a word, her deep, seductive voice penetrated his pain and surprise filled brain. "Are you through? I thought you said we'd take care of business tonight."

"And so we have, my feline friend, so we have. My weapon worked like a charm." He stroked the portable cannon-like object that pointed down toward the street. "We now know that the thing does exactly what I meant it to do." For a moment mock-concern crossed his face as he regarded the cat. "Of course, you shouldn't feel bad if you don't know what that is, you can hardly be expected to keep up with a genius like me."

Catwoman simply stared at him, not blinking, licking blood--his blood--off her claws. It had the desired effect. "Allow me to explain," he said hurrying on. "The cannon fires a short burst of energy, overloading the nervous system of any person it hits. It does the same for electronic equipment. Now, I can point this at any person and, depending on the length of the burst, stop them in their tracks or turn their brains to tapioca!" He laughed again, unable to stand the perfection of his weapon. "Of course, if I point it at, oh, I don't know, an alarm system, it will completely scramble, and thereby disable, any alarm or other form of technological wonder."

The cat became impatient. "I'm not in this for money. I want Batman." The Riddler, momentarily overwhelmed by his genius and his brilliant plans for revenge and world domination, leaned close to her face until the merest fraction of space was between them. "You will have him." 

The Batcave was eerily empty without Alfred's reassuring presence, putting both Batman and Robin in a darker mood than usual. They'd been unable to repair the Redbird on the street, and Batman disliked having them appear vulnerable in public, so he'd loaded the bike into the concealed cargo space in the Batmobile, and Robin in the emergency passenger space, which at the flip of a switch had appeared next to the driver's seat. 

Robin had been unnaturally quiet all the way back, and that worried Batman. He coasted to a stop, and, restraining himself from calling for Alfred, or indeed from helping Robin at all until he indicated he needed help, Batman busied himself removing the Redbird from the Batmobile and hooking it up to the diagnostic computer.

Finally, Robin stepped out of the Batmobile and came over to help Batman. "So, what happened?" 

Batman spoke first to the Batcomputer. "Display recording, Redbird crash." He pointed Robin's attention towards the central computer screen. Robin saw himself as Batman had seen him as they rode through Gotham. First they were next to each other and then the Redbird pulled ahead. In a moment a soft glow engulfed Robin and the Redbird. "Stop." Robin, had no desire to watch himself skid helplessly through it all again. He looked at Batman. "What was that? Something hit me." 

Batman nodded. "I've never seen it before. Can you tell me what it felt like?"

Robin considered for a moment, then turned away. "It felt...like I didn't control my body anymore. For a few seconds I could barely think. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't make myself do anything. Then it was over and I was fighting for control of the Redbird." He looked regretfully over at the bike. "I guess it was fried, too." 

"After you began to skid, I had the Batmobile record the location around us." Batman shrugged. "I had a feeling it wasn't merely an accident." Batman had the computer switch to the other scenes he'd recorded. "Stop," he ordered after a few moments. "Enhance section A12 and display." Batman and Robin looked expectantly at the screen as the computer digitally enhanced and improved the requested section. 

Then, staring back at them was...

"...The Riddler." Robin stared at the masked maniac. Then noticed a dark figure to the left. "Who's that?" he asked pointing.

"I'm not sure," Batman admitted. " Computer enhance and display section B 10." The wait was shorter this time, and soon they were looking at a figure clothed in skintight black vinyl. Robin still wasn't sure what he was seeing, but Batman knew all too well. "Catwoman," he whispered.

Robin almost asked who, but seeing the look on his friend's face thought it would be rather tactless. He waited for Batman to snap out of it himself. When he did, he seemed rather surprised not to be alone. "Robin..." he seemed about to say more, then caught himself. "Let's get that leg looked at." He ushered Robin towards a bench and retrieved the first aid kit that Alfred used on the both of them so often. Robin had been so caught up in memories of the crash and questions about this Catwoman that he hadn't realized how bad his leg was. Apparently, in the crash, he'd ripped open the stitches he'd needed after the fall in the fire. Of course, the Batcave was as well stocked as far as medical supplies as a small hospital. A few stitches, a bandage and some painkillers, and Robin was once again, Dick Grayson. 

Batman had removed cape and cowl as well, and soon the two were retreating to their respective bedrooms. Dick knew he'd have to wait for answers until Bruce was ready to offer some. He also knew that he hated waiting. When Bruce didn't confide in him, he felt the older man didn't trust him. There was nothing he hated more than not being trusted, unless it was not being part of a team. Of course, the two went hand in hand. Alfred had asked him to be patient. Dick would, mostly out of respect for Al and for what Al and Bruce had allowed him to become part of. He knew he wouldn't wait forever. He just hoped he wasn't asked to.

Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson stood in Alfred's private room hoping for the best. The doctor had informed them that Alfred's condition had been steadily improving. Generally, during the day, one or the other of them was there by Alfred's bedside, but today, they both felt the need to be there. Bruce was worried that he'd have to leave early to change and pick up Chase for the Charity fund raiser he'd agreed to attend tonight, but felt better knowing that Dick would stay until visiting hours were over.

Bruce, who'd cancelled several meetings to make time for the vigil, finally settled into a chair. Dick felt more comfortable pacing, even if he still did so with a limp. "How's the leg?" Bruce asked to fill the silence. 

Dick nodded. "It's better." Self-consciously, he tried not to limp, which made his gait even more awkward. Soon, though, each step became stronger, until, to Bruce's amazement, Dick had indeed willed himself not to limp.

"Impressive." Bruce admitted. "Now how are you, really?"

"Fine, Bruce, how the hell are you?" Dick knew he was being surly, and he didn't really know why.

"Dick, you haven't been yourself since the fire. If you can't talk to me about it, will you talk to Chase?" Bruce had worked on saying that line in his head for days. He only hoped Dick took it well.

Dick stopped pacing and whirled on Bruce. "Talk to Chase? You think I need therapy or something? You think maybe I'm nuts?"

Bruce sighed. He should have realized this wouldn't be easy. "No, Dick that's not what I'm saying." Bruce paused, remembering how he had felt when the court had appointed a psychiatrist to "talk" to him when his parents had died. Still, Dick wasn't him, and the boy had lost more than Bruce had. He'd lost his parents, his brother, his home, his career, and all of the people he'd ever known to Two-Face's vengeance. Then, he'd almost lost himself to his own vengeance.

"Dick, Chase can help you. She told me she's concerned with how you've dealt with...everything."

"Talking about me behind my back? I don't need to talk to anyone. I know what happened. I know what I've done." Dick turned again and began pacing.

Bruce was puzzled. What did Dick mean? He hadn't done anything. "What do you mean?" He heard himself asking.

"Hello? Get a clue, Bruce!" Dick's pacing became more frantic. He was crossing the room in no more than a few, long strides. "I know what happened! I was there! Both times. My parents, Chris..." His voice broke as he said his brother's name. Bruce realized that Dick hadn't really mentioned his brother by name that often. Perhaps saying it made the loss more real. "...they never stood a chance. If Chris had taken the bomb up to the roof, and I'd rejoined my parents on the trapeze, he'd be..." Dick paused, lowering his voice, which had been raising in pitch over the last few minutes. Glancing quickly at Alfred, and Alfred's monitor's, Dick continued at a more respectful tone, but the rage and sorrow did not diminish. 

"Al shouldn't have been anywhere near the attic when that bomb blew. If I hadn't..." he broke off, unable to continue and turned his back on Bruce.

"Wait a minute," Bruce got to his feet. "I thought we'd covered this. You're not responsible for Alfred's condition. Dick, you have to know that. Alfred wouldn't want you doing this to yourself, neither would your parents, or Chris." Knowing Alfred had said nearly the same thing to a young Bruce Wayne, Bruce found it difficult to go on, but did anyway. "Dick? He put his hand on Dick's shoulder and was surprised the boy didn't pull away. "Dick, you didn't do this to Alfred. You didn't do it to your family. You need to forgive yourself for surviving. It wasn't your fault."

Dick almost believed Bruce, but when he turned, he saw Alfred lying in bed. "Bruce, I made him go upstairs. I took him to the bomb. If we'd been on the first floor when it blew, we'd have gotten out." As he sunk to his knees by Alfred's bed, and, forehead touching the blankets, his voice dropped to barely a whisper. "It's my fault." 

"No. It isn't." The clear, surprisingly strong voice stopped the hearts of both Dick and Bruce. Bruce, reminding himself to breathe, took Alfred's other hand and perched beside him on the bed, hoping he had just heard what he'd thought he'd heard. Dick, raising his head from the blankets, stared intently at Alfred's eyes.

In a moment, they fluttered open and Alfred, squeezing each of his charge's hands in his own, spoke to the men he considered sons. "It is not your fault, Master Dick. You had nothing to do with it." For good measure, he caught Bruce's eye. "Neither did you." Bruce smiled at the man who knew him so well. Dick, head sinking back down to the bed began to sob in relief. Then, the sobs grew in intensity, and Alfred moved his hand to the boy's head. Dick's other hand found it there and lay on top of it, holding Alfred's hand to the top of his head as he shook violently from the release. 

Bruce remembered a conversation he'd had with Alfred soon after the Graysons' funeral. "The boy worries me. He didn't shed a t ÿear." Bruce, already thinking of Two-Face didn't understand. "Neither did I at my parent's funeral." Alfred had nodded. "Yes, you worry me, too."

Now, Bruce realized the boy had never cried for his family. He'd been so wrapped up in finding Two-Face; he'd pushed his grief aside. Bruce looked down at Dick, still clutching Alfred's hand to the top of his head. Carefully, almost gingerly, he laid his own hand on top of Dick's, silently encouraging him to let it all out.

Selena Kyle awoke with a start and smacked her alarm clock more violently than normal. She was never sure if she preferred to retreat into her dreams or remain active and alert all day. Resigning herself for the moment that she was awake, and recognizing that it was, in truth, much later than she used to wake up every day, she slid out of bed. Retrieving the evening paper from her mailbox, she settled down with a glass of milk and began to catch up with the world.

Glancing through the headlines, she remained unconcerned at reports of fires, robberies, deaths and other such news which was commonplace for any metropolis, but doubly so in Gotham. Perusing Gossip Gerty's column, however she sat up straight, and felt a growing, burning, hatred inside of her. There were pictures there of Billionaire Bruce Wayne with some dazzling doctor on his arm. "Doctor Chase Meridian," Selena read, "has been keeping company with Billionaire Bruce Wayne on an increasingly more frequent basis. Can Gotham assume that its most confirmed bachelor will soon tie the knot? Growing maturity and responsibility have been evident since Gotham's number one citizen took in a young man orphaned by the recent crime spree of Harvey "Two-Face" Dent, now presumed dead. Will that maturity lead to matrimony? Only time will tell."

Selena shook with jealously and rage, and without understanding it, she crumbled the paper and turned to her closet. Selena knew the day had been lost as she felt vinyl caress skin.

Chase Meridian crossed the parking lot to her waiting car. She'd put in a few extra hours to make up for being late getting to work. Bruce's charity functions and a little too much champagne managed to make her sleep through her alarm clock. Bruce had been excited to fill her in on Alfred's progress. He was practically gleeful when he told her that Alfred might come home in a week--sooner, if Bruce could convince the older man of the need for a visiting nurse.

Climbing into the car, she thought about tonight. She still wasn't sure what to wear. Bruce was noncommittal when she asked his advice on such things. She'd figured he'd been traveling in the upper circles and attending the special events all his life. He should be able to tell her what was appropriate and what wasn't. "Men," she whispered to herself.

She turned on the ignition and turned to check for cars behind her, but all she saw in the back seat was a dark figure. Giving her no time to react, the figure leaned into the front seat, reaching to cover Chase's mouth with a cloth. The cloth, soaked in a chemical concoction, knocked Chase out before she could begin to struggle.

Looking quite pleased with herself, Catwoman allowed herself to savor the triumph.

Dick Grayson settled himself down in front of the TV. Bruce had just left for his date with Chase. They were supposed to be going to a formal $250 per plate dinner to benefit the Gotham Children's Hospital and, while Dick was not going, Bruce had been quite adamant about his activities for the night.

"Stay home. I don't want you going out alone." Bruce's voice had been firm, but Dick wasn't one to give in easily.

"C'mon, Bruce! I can take care of myself." He'd been about to go on, when Bruce had cut him off.

"Yes, you can." Dick shut his mouth, surprised by the admission and the trust it implied. Bruce continued. "Under normal circumstances. Not now. You're still not 100 percent." Bruce looked his young charge in the eyes. "Not tonight," he repeated firmly.

Dick had reluctantly agreed, but as soon as Bruce was well on his way to Chase's, he planned to take charge of the night himself.

Bruce Wayne knocked on the door to Chase Meridian's apartment. He'd already knocked twice. If he got no answer this time, he was going to force his way inside. Recalling how he'd once destroyed his office door, he hoped she would be equally as forgiving this time.

No answer. Placing the flowers he'd brought along on the floor, he knocked once more calling out as he did so. "Chase?" Nothing. Backing up as far as the narrow corridor would allow, he reached inside himself for the strength and focus he would need. Then he charged the door. The inside of the apartment was dark. He reached for the light switch, but hesitated before touching it. Some slight, half movement had caught his eye. There was someone, or something, here. "Who's that?" he called.

"Now, now Bruce! What a shame! Stood up, I see." With that, the figure stepped into the light, lashed out with her claws surprising him as the cold metal bit into his chest.

Then, just as quickly, she was gone.

Bruce stood, switched on the lights, and, after searching the apartment and coming up empty, called the police.

TBC


	7. Part 7

Disclaimer: I don't own them. I am not making any money. 

Trial by Fire

Part 7

By Ecri

Bruce Wayne parked his car in his garage at Wayne Manor and quickly went inside. The police had kept him at Chase's for a long time. He'd wanted to run out right away, but something had made him report the incident. He knew, though, that Batman would have a better chance at finding out what had happened to Chase than the police, and he'd learned to trust his instincts a long time ago.

Entering his home through the garage, and stepping around some tools that the contractors had left behind after they'd completed the day's work, Bruce called to his friend.

"Dick?" He entered the sitting room, the game room, and eventually searched through most of the house. He saw no sign of his friend. 

Exasperated, he went down to the Batcave thinking Dick had gone down there to work on the Redbird, or to try to figure out what the Riddler was up to.

When he got there, though, the Batcave was silent. Suddenly fearful, Bruce thought he should check to see if one of Robin's suits were gone. He headed in that direction, but stopped. He didn't have to check for a missing suit, when the Batmobile was missing.

Robin raced through the streets of Gotham in Batman's car. That was how he thought of it, as Batman's. He really should have fixed the Redbird first, but patience wasn't his strong suit. He had picked up several muggers, and stopped several convenience store robberies, but he had not seen The Riddler or the Catwoman anywhere. He was baffled. The Riddler hadn't robbed anything or left any riddles in days. He knew they had to be planning something. No good could come from two costumed criminals working together.

As he passed an alley, Robin saw a man getting rough with a woman. From the body language, he didn't think they knew each other, and, even if they did, that didn't give the guy the right to behave like this. Robin parked the Batmobile, leaped out, activated the car's shields, and ran to the woman's aid.

He spun the guy around, punched him twice and cuffed him. He'd call the police from the car and tell them where to pick up. Then he turned his attention to the woman. Only now did he realize that the woman wasn't alone. Next to her, stood another woman–dressed in black vinyl.

Recognizing her from the recording of his accident, Robin walked slowly towards her. The woman she was with, the one who had been attacked by the now-handcuffed man, seemed scared.

"The money!" She demanded, inching slightly away from Catwoman.

Catwoman looked at her for all the world as if she were of no consequence at all. "Didn't mother ever warn you not to trust every woman in black vinyl you meet?" When the woman just stared at her, Catwoman's eyes widened slightly, she drew her claws up and a low, terrifying sound came from deep in her throat. The other woman, now truly frightened, ran away into the darkness of the alley.

Robin knew this had been a setup. Maybe to catch him. Probably to catch Batman. Too curious to do anything else, he stepped to within an arm's length of Catwoman. "I should arrest you."

Catwoman stared unblinkingly. "You're a friend of Batman. How sweet of him to send a snack in his place. I do so love birds."

Robin almost laughed at the banter. Almost. The look in the woman's eye, very like a cat's in its lack of movement, and the way it seemed to see into your soul, made him think she meant what she said.

"You'll find I don't go down so easily." He kept his eyes locked on hers, unblinking, determined not to look away first. Eventually, lazily, as if this, too were of little consequence, she looked away herself.

"Where do you fit in, Batbrat?" She seemed to be talking to herself.

Robin's eyes narrowed behind his mask. "Where do you fit in?" 

Her laughter surprised him. It was a deep, humorless, laugh. Sexy, scary, sad, and psychotic. When she stopped laughing, she moved, swiftly to stand millimeters from him. Eye to eye, nose to nose, she stood in front of him. One hand--claw--had come up to hold his chin so that he couldn't look away from her. "I don't fit in, Birdbrain. And you tell Batman--neither do you." Still holding his chin in her claw, she reached up quickly with the other, and before Robin even had an inkling of what she would do, she had raked her claws high across his neck and jaw, drawing blood. Then, she was gone, bounding off into the darkness with the speed and grace of a jaguar.

Robin, startled by what had happened, touched his jaw and neck finding a metal claw still embedded in his flesh. He pulled it out, slipped it into his utility belt, and raced for the Batmobile. 

Edward Nygma took long, steady strides as he crossed the room. Reaching the far wall, he pivoted and walked back the way he'd come. Once, twice, three times, he continued to pace, with each pivot, his anger and frustration seemed to increase.

Catwoman sat on a round satin pillow, still as stone. Only her eyes moved following Nygma's progress in slow, lazy sweeps of the room.

Finally, Nygma stopped in the center of the room and glared at Catwoman. "You, my feline friend, could very nearly have cost us our goal!"

Catwoman just stared.

Nygma went on. "I told you we would catch Robin, not Dr. Meridian! Then, on top of that, you take my perfectly orchestrated Bird Trap and, instead of bringing him here, you let him go!"

Catwoman considered Nygma for another moment. Then, slowly, almost languidly, she stood up. "I told you before. I don't take orders. I don't care about your plan. I want Batman." She smiled a slow, lazy smile. "Besides, I have a plan of my own."

"Listen to me, you stupid stray, you will care about my plan. You will do as I say!" Nygma was shaking with barely controlled rage.

"Or what?" Asked Catwoman, not in the least impressed with the display.

Nygma stepped back. He blinked twice. Threats would not work with the cat, he assumed. So promises, deals, appeal to her avarice.

"Let's do it this way. You do as I say, and you can have Dr. Meridian, Batman, and Robin as your own personal Cat toys!" He was smiling maniacally, now.

Catwoman's gaze stayed riveted to his. "And what do you get?"

Nygma's eyes sparkled in his excitement. "I get Gotham!"

Robin carefully pulled into the Batcave, hoping he had beat Bruce home. He had decided to call it a night after the encounter with the strange woman. Early, by his standards, but he had to be sure to get home before Bruce and Chase ended their date.

After parking, he headed towards the locker room, but had taken only a few steps when a dark shape caught his attention. Just as he turned, Bruce stepped out of the shadows. "Out for a spin?" The casual words belied the scathing tone as Bruce glared at his charge, arms crossed.

Robin swallowed and turned away slightly, trying to think of something to say that wouldn't get him deeper into trouble. As he turned, Bruce got a look at his neck and jaw where Catwoman had scratched him. He was at Robin's side in a moment.

"You saw her, didn't you?" Bruce looked at the wounds; nasty cuts, but no stitches would be required. He found one of the First Aid kits that Alfred managed to keep fully stocked and scattered all over the Batcave as well as the mansion.

Robin nodded. "She's a real wacko."

Bruce stared at him a moment, then went back to cleaning the cuts. He had so wanted to help Selena. He considered it a personal failure that he hadn't been able to do it.

"Was Chase with her?" Bruce knew the answer before he asked, but he still had to ask.

"Chase? No. Why would she... wait...she's been kidnapped?" Robin guessed.

Bruce nodded.

Robin sat at a nearby work station and removed his mask. 

As Bruce reached towards him with an antibacterial salve, Dick caught his arm; not allowing him to do what he'd only ever allowed Alfred to do. "We should go after Chase."

Bruce sighed. "I know, but we have no leads. Catwoman did this, and I'm sure she'll send Batman a clue eventually...unless..." Bruce stared at Dick. "What did she say to you?"

"To me? You think she gave me a clue?" Dick snorted. "She didn't really seem to like me very much." He gestured to the cuts on his neck and fished out the claw she'd left behind.

"I see that, but...What. Did. She. Say?" Bruce stressed every word as he sometimes did when frustrated.

"She said, Tell Batman you don't fit in.', but that can't be a clue to where she is." Dick glared at his partner. He hated when Bruce got this way; too distracted with his own thoughts to fill in the blanks, and too frustrated to be civil.

"Can I see that?" Bruce gestured to Catwoman's claw.

"Knock yourself out." Dick tossed it to Bruce and headed for the showers, mumbling about being left out of the loop. Bruce, too busy to notice, was already at the computer setting up for his first analysis.

Chase Meridian had been through a lot in her life, but nothing prepared her for once again being in the lair of one of Gotham's archvillians. "What is it about me?" she muttered to herself, knowing full well that it wasn't her, precisely, but the company she kept that continued to get her into trouble. She understood that, but she had grown fond of Bruce Wayne. Not the Billionaire Playboy, not even the Batman...but with Bruce. He was so much more than the sum of his parts. Of course, just in the category of personalities, Bruce had more parts than the average man did.

She'd read about Catwoman, and had even tried to talk to Bruce about her. From what she'd learned that was a damaged psyche. She believed Catwoman needed help. Above all the other villains who had threatened Gotham, Catwoman, Chase believed, was the most likely to be completely rehabilitated.

"Still here?" Catwoman's deep growl of a voice asked her guest as she entered the room, as if Chase had had a choice about staying.

"Just waiting for answers." Chase hoped her reply would get the woman to open up about herself.

Catwoman ignored her remarks. "This is the Riddler." Catwoman gestured lazily towards her comrade, then sat down and began to mimic the movements of a cat bathing. Chase was astonished. The woman really thought she was a cat! What she wouldn't do to be able to treat her!

The Riddler, of course, would not be denied his chance at center stage. "We've met, my dear! So glad to see you again!"

Chase stared at the man in the green tights. "Can't say the same."

"Ah, Ah!" The Riddler waggled a finger at her admonishing her remark. "You need to play along, my dear Dr. Meridian. It won't be long now."

"Won't be long for what?" Chase's heart froze, knowing that the entire point to holding her again would be to get to Batman.

"That would be telling..." The Riddler began to laugh, but with a suddenness that took nothing from her grace, Catwoman raked a clawed hand across his back. He screamed, an odd, high-pitched sound, and turned to face her. 

"Get to the point! Enough of the games!" Catwoman glared at him, looking all the more dangerous for her economy of movement.

Indignant, the Riddler glared back at her. "There is no rushing a great plan. Batman will be here soon. I have laid it all out for him."

Bruce remained in the Batcave working on the claw that Catwoman had used on Robin. He'd run a series of tests, but could find nothing informative. What was Catwoman doing here? Was she behind Chase's kidnapping or was it the Riddler? Were they working together?

His mind full of questions, he never noticed Dick was standing behind him, until the younger man spoke. 

"The signal..." He cut himself off when Bruce jumped, obviously startled. "Sorry. It's just...the Bat Signal..."

Bruce nodded. "Let's go."

"Wait a minute. You're inviting me along?" He didn't try to hide the surprise in his voice.

Bruce stared at his companion, wondering why he couldn't seem to communicate with the boy. "Yes. I am. We're a team now. We have to start acting like it. Batman needs Robin...and..." he pause, not sure if it were wise to continue the thought, but his father had once taught him never to fear the truth. "...and Bruce Wayne needs Dick Grayson."

Dick smiled. "That's good to hear. I suppose...I mean...I...I need you, too."

Bruce clapped a hand on Dick's arm. Then, the two hastily ran for their suits.

Twenty minutes later, Batman and Robin stood atop City Hall with Commissioner Gordon. The Commissioner was deep into his explanation. "The Riddler left a message for you Batman. There seems to be some sort of ultimatum, but we can't decipher it."

Batman held out a hand, and the Commissioner passed him the note. In bright green letters across very black paper, the Riddler had written,

Money changes everything

So some people say

Give me all the city has or

Tomorrow is yesterday

Might makes right so

Go Fly a Kite!

Batman read through the lines again. "Commissioner, I think it would be best not to let this leak to the public. I..." Batman paused and looked pointedly at Robin..."...we need some time to find out where the Riddler is hiding. May I take this with me?" He indicated the note.

The Commissioner nodded. "By all means, Batman. What do you want us to do?"

"Sit tight, Commissioner. I'll call you in a few hours." He turned to Robin. "Let's go."

Commissioner Gordon watched the two caped figures as they receded into the darkness. A strong sense of foreboding settled over him as he pondered the Riddler's words. He hated sit ting around dong nothing, but he knew the only person who could stop the Riddler was Batman.

Back at the Batcave, Bruce was deciphering the clues the Riddler had left. They had to find the Riddler's lair. Bruce was sure Chase would be there. Aside from that, he was also sure that The Riddler's machine was there.

"The silver?" Dick asked.

"What about the silver?" Bruce asked in return.

"He's using it to make some kind of a machine. He can mess up electrical fields with it can't he?"

Bruce smiled. "For someone who grumbles so much about going to school, you do pretty well."

Dick smiled back. "It wasn't hard. I mean, my accident, that beam of light, and this latest riddle. He's going to shut down the city's electricity. Problem is, that's not all it can do."

Bruce frowned, not sure how much Dick had discovered, and unwilling to give away all that he knew.

"Bruce, that beam did more than disrupt the electrical systems of the Redbird. It disrupted my electrical impulses, too." He looked away. "Nygma...The Riddler...whatever you want to call him...he's a genius. He must know this. He tried it out on me, so you and I would be the only ones who knew. Everyone else who reads the riddle will think it's just our technology that's being threatened, but you and I will know that he's really threatening everyone...every life in Gotham."

Bruce sighed. "Pretty smart, kid. Now, help me figure out where he is."

Dick joined Bruce at the computer and together they started to sort through what little information they had.

After analyzing everything from the paper on which the riddle had been printed to the ink that had been used, Bruce knew...nothing. 

"So what now?" Dick asked.

"Now, we hit the streets." Bruce smiled. Dick had wanted to do this all along, but he'd wanted to take this slow. 

So much for slow, he thought as Robin appeared fully dressed and wheeling out the Redbird.

"Have you checked that out?" Bruce asked his young friend.

"Passed all inspections while you w ere finishing up with the riddle." Robin mounted the bike and looked towards Bruce expectantly. "Whenever you're ready."

"Not so fast. Do you have any idea where we're going?" Bruce crossed his arms.

"No, but I figure you do." Robin smiled.

After a moment, Bruce returned the smile. "Sit tight, Robin. I have to change first."

"Well, hurry it up old-timer! We've got a city to save!"

TBC


	8. Part 8

Disclaimer: I don't own them. Just borrowing.

Thanks for the reviews!

Trial by Fire 

By Ecri

Part 8

Catwoman paced in front of Dr. Meridian. She'd abandoned the languid motions she'd favored earlier. Now, she was a coiled spring; each movement quick and short, but somehow, still sensual.

"You know, whatever the Riddler is planning, you don't have to get caught up in it. You can walk away. We can go to Batman together and tell him what's been going on. He'll be grateful for your help. He'll..."

"Shut up!" Catwoman exploded, her words no longer sensual purrs, and when she turned towards Chase, the psychiatrist saw wild eyes.

Catwoman crossed to kneel in front of Chase, her face mere inches from the doctors. "You will be quiet! I need to think!"

Chase noted that her words, her voice, sounded different. She was cracking. "Selena..." Chase held her breath after speaking Catwoman's real name; the name of the woman she once was...maybe still was somewhere beneath the vinyl and claws. When Catwoman just stared at her, Chase continued. "Selena, it's okay. Whatever has been going on, whatever traumatic events have led you down this path, I can help you find your way out again." Chase watched Catwoman carefully. She might believe me, she thought. She might help me. She took a deep breath and continued. "It's true. I know Batman, and I know Commissioner Gordon. I can help you. I can..."

Catwoman's hand moved in a blur and she held fast to Dr. Meridian's throat. "You can what?" The cat was back. Gone were the wide eyes, the desperation, and the fear. Back were the half-lidded eyes, the calm, almost regal, bearing. Chase coughed, her hands flying to her throat, but Catwoman let go as if Chase's life were of little concern. Therein, thought Chase, lies her power. She acts as if whatever happens to those around her, or to herself, was of little concern. She was interested in carrying out her own agenda. There had been reports of men ending up hospitalized after a run in with her. Usually the men had been involved in some violent act against women. You could almost believe she was out there to protect women, but often she would attack the victimized women as well, not as severely as the men, to be sure, but leaving them with some scar or other memento of their run in. The women always reported the same thing. Catwoman would admonish them for allowing themselves to be victimized.

Catwoman stared at Chase. "You are here as bait. I want Batman. Riddler wants Gotham. Don't worry about helping me. I can help myself." With that she bounded out of the room in a series of acrobatics that Chase couldn't begin to follow.

"Look out, Batman," Chase whispered.

Batman and Robin cruised the streets of Gotham in search of Riddler and CatwomanThey managed to thwart two robberies, and a half dozen assaults, but had still not found a trace of either of Gotham's villains.

Robin was getting restless. He knew that Batman was worried about Chase, and he wanted to help, but he was frustrated by the lack of leads. Riddler hadn't robbed any silver in a while, and Catwoman, well, she didn't have an MO. She seemed to do whatever she wanted to do whenever the mood struck.

"Batman," Robin called over the Redbird's com device. 

"Yes, Robin?" 

"This doesn't seem to be working. I mean, shouldn't we..." he cut off as he felt it again. He was losing control of the Redbird. He wanted to tell Batman what was happening, but he needed all of his concentration to keep from crashing. He fought to gain control of the motorcycle, but he was sliding out of control...right into the rear of an open truck. He slammed into the far side of the truck and fell to the floor. Once he was inside, the ramp was raised; the doors slammed shut and the engines gunned to life. Robin's last coherent thought before he slipped into the darkness was that he hoped Batman had gotten the number of the truck.

Batman stared at the truck as it pulled away with his friend inside. "Bat-tracers, launch!" he ordered as he followed it. Immediately, a panel opened on the hood of his car and four small, bat-shaped devices threw themselves after the fleeing truck. One overshot the trailer, but attached itself to the cab, two others bounced uselessly off the tires before settling in the mud, and the last gripped firmly onto the back door of the trailer.

Batman glanced at his dashboard and saw the reassuring blips from both of the successfully attached beacons. Hold on, Robin, he thought, as he gunned the engine.

The Riddler wandered into his lair giggling at his own success. Robin was slumped, unconscious, between two of the Riddler's henchmen. He knew Batman was following him--had been counting on it. He was forcing a showdown. He wanted the Bat to understand--the Riddler was in charge of life in Gotham from now on, and if he had to keep Robin as an insurance policy, he was quite prepared to do that.

Robin awoke with a start, and began to struggle against the men holding him.

"Ah, ah, ah...dear, dear Birdbrain! Don't struggle so, you may hurt yourself." Riddler gestured to his henchmen, who unceremoniously dropped Robin to the floor. He got to his feet, swaying slightly, and took a step toward the Riddler. "Where is Dr. Meridian? You should let us go and turn yourself in..."

"Don't strain yourself, my boy...or should I say, my bird?" Riddler strode up to Robin, an evil grin on his face.

"Don't get all smug, you loon. Batman probably followed you!" Robin stared at Riddler, eyes blazing in fury.

Riddler laughed. "I certainly hope that he did. I have to speak to him about his precious city, and his precious sidekick. He can't have both!"

Catwoman stared at Dr. Meridian. She felt her control slipping again. Meridian kept talking and talking, and...and you know she's right...Selena Kyle thought.

"Stop!" Catwoman's hands clutched her head trying to dispel the words from both Selena and Chase. 

Chase involuntarily stopped speaking. She was well aware what a fine line she was walking. If she pushed too far too fast, she could lose Selena Kyle to Catwoman. On the other hand, she knew she was running out of time. She had a better shot of surviving this if she could get Catwoman working with her rather than with the Riddler.

"Selena, " Chase called in a soft, soothing voice, "We can help each other."

Selena heard Chase Meridian speak to her...not to Catwoman, but to Selena. She wanted to stand up to this creature--this Cat--but she had a sense that this was easier said than done. She was appalled by some of the things Catwoman did, but sometimes it felt right. How could she fight that?

"...help you come to terms with what you've done...," Chase was saying.

"She," whispered Selena. 

"What?" Chase asked, pleased to have gotten a response that appeared to be more Selena than Catwoman.

"She...what she's done...I've watched her...she wants...so much."

Chase recognized a breakthrough when she saw one. "Selena...untie me, and we'll go to the hospital. We'll get you help."

Selena felt Catwoman rise within her wanting to smack down this talk, but she quelled the desire. 

The Riddler giggled gleefully as he considered the end of Gotham City. It was only a matter of time before the city had to give in to his demands, and, even if they didn't, he was certain that, once he realized it was a choice between his beloved city or his beloved birdbrain sidekick, Batman would hand the keys to Gotham City over to him.

Of course, The Riddler would banish Batman from Gotham. Let him go help out in Metropolis! Once the Bat was gone, and the city cowered in fear of his electromagnetic interference machine, he would be king...emperor...God!

He giggled again. 

The sound of that insane laugh was enough to make Robin's blood boil. He pulled at the restraints that held his hands to the wall, but they did not give, and the more he struggled, the more the collar Riddler had fastened around his neck constricted. Soon he was gasping for air.

Riddler bounced over to Robin. "Now, I know it is a difficult concept to grasp dear boy, but if you keep struggling you'll likely strangle yourself!" Robin forced himself to relax, but his eyes still communicated his contempt.

Riddler's insanity was a palpable thing, and Robin was sure he was getting worse by the minute. 

"Well, well, my dear Boy Wonder, Let me explain where it is I've put you. The device on front of you is a scaled down version of my precious disrupterthat's what I call it since that's what it does! It disrupts electrical fields. It's in front of you so I can experimentand what better test subject thanyou?" 

With that, he flipped a switch. A beam of light leaped from the muzzle of the disrupter and engulfed Robin. He wanted to struggle, but, just like when he'd been hit on the Redbird, he was unable even to make himself breathe. Twitching and shaking uncontrollably, Robin heard the Riddler's maniacal laughter as he passed out.

Batman crept through the Riddler's lair taking care to scan for stealth and detection devices or alarms he was expected to inadvertently trip. He'd successfully circumvented three of them before managing to come face to face with Chase Meridian and Catwoman.

"Batman!" Chase's relief was real, but he thought a bit premature as the villain had yet to be apprehended. He was surprised when Catwoman allowed Chase to walk over to him. Catwoman stood as if not sure what to do. A clawed hand reached up and touched her head, and surprisingly, paused to remove her mask. 

Chase quickly told Batman that Selena Kyle had helped her escape Catwoman, and that she wanted to take her to the hospital to be evaluated.

Batman nodded. "Selena, can you tell me where Riddler is, and what he's done with Robin?"

Selena seemed to shrink into herself, but, by sheer force of will, stopped and looked into Batman's eyes. "Riddler's invention lies at the center of his world. I'll show you." She turned and was gone in an instant, forcing Batman and Chase to hurry to keep up.

Riddler stared at his monitors. He was tracking the progress of Gotham's decline. He'd broadcast his ultimatum a few hours earlier, and now he watched as the citizens of Gotham City tried to escape before his deadline. They didn't want to take the chance that the mayor and chief of police would not meet his demands, and they didn't seem to want to trust that Batman would save them. Cars jammed every roadway out of town. He watched disinterestedly as a car with a trunk strapped to its roof slammed into a pickup truck loaded up with a stereo, TV, and carious mismatched pieces of luggage.

Angered by the lack of response from the city, Riddler paced the room.

"Things not going your way?" Robin, finally recovered enough to speak, put as much contempt as possible into his words.

"What would you know about it?" Riddler sneered as he drew closer to his prisoner.

"I know enough to know that no matter what elaborate plans you make, you will eventually outsmart yourself. You can't help it." 

Robin activated the wrist blades concealed in his gloves. They would make short work of these ropes. He would escape, but he wanted to take the Riddler down, too.

Riddler laughed. "And you came to this absurd conclusion because..."

Robin smiled a triumphant smile. "Because you think too much. You don't know how to react to the unexpected!" With that, Robin pulled his arms away from the wall breaking the frayed ropes that no longer had the strength to hold him in place. In one swift movement, he grasped Riddler around the neck and held him. The tighter the control collar around his own neck became, the tighter the he held the Riddler.

Just then, Riddler henchmen raced inside to help their master. "Stay back! Tell them to stay back!"

Riddler coughed once. "Come no closer, but don't let him get away."

Robin squeezed as the collar tightened. "How are you doing that? Where's the control for this thing?" 

Riddler laughed. "I don't know how to react to the unexpected, because there is nothing that I don't expect! You will release me, or the Bat will find his brat dead when he arrives!"

"I don't think so." Robin squeezed again until the Riddler began to pry at the hands and arms that held him fast. Try as he might, nothing would loosen the grip, not even the tightening of the control collar.

"We're getting out of here, Riddler, so you tell your men to back off! Now!" To emphasize his point, Robin jerked The Riddler backwards, causing the villain to lose his footing. "Face it, Birdbrain, we are at a stalemate. You don't have enough of an advantage to make me rethink my plans." With that, he snaked one of his hands to a control on his wrist and, viciously, flipped it to maximum.

Robin tried to keep hold of the Riddler, but his vision was fading. He struggled to draw a breath, to loosen the collar, but to The Riddler's amazement, the Boy Wonder never let go of his captive. 

A flurry of activity, drew Riddler's attention to the entrance to his lair. The sight of a Cat, a Bat, and the Good Doctor would have left Riddler breathless, if he hadn't been already.

Batman landed several punches and kicks and soon, the henchmen lay in various heeps on the floor. Facing Riddler and Robin, Batman saw immediately what was happening. Instinct told him to help Robin, but the look in his young friend's eyes, oddly emphasized by his mask, held him back. Robin often exhibited a strange bravado coupled with a lack of confidence. Batman suspected it came from the abrupt change in his life. He and his family had been famous athletesacrobats in the prime of their careers. He was used to being the best at what he did. Now, his life had been irrevocably altered and he was still learning the rules. Alfred had fold him once that he suspected the boy was unsure if he were truly a part of the team–as if he could do or say the wrong thing, and end up being rejected. He was used the unconditional love of his family, and was unsure where he stood with his second family.

Batman stood ready to offer assistance if needed, but nodded almost imperceptibly allowing Robin to know that the senior Crimefighter would follow the junior partner's lead this time.

Robin took in Batman's intentions instantly, and removing his left hand from the collar he forced it down to the Riddler's wrist. He felt the slight tightening of the collar as it closed without the pressure of his fingers keeping it away from his windpipe. His right arm tightened again, distracting the Riddler from what his left hand was doing. Robin had been carefully observing the Riddler's movements whenever the collar tightened. Quickly, he yanked at the Supervillain's wrist controls and snapped. The Riddler let out a horrific scream as Robin broke his wrist, and tossed him towards his own invention. 

As Robin struggled for balance, he fell into the Riddler's disrupter activating it. Horrified, Robin found the controls and shut it down. He raced to the Riddler's side. The villain twitched for a few moments, and then lay still. Robin shook him gently, not sure what to do, when the Riddler laughed again, and, with his unbroken wrist, activated the collar Robin still wore. 

Batman raced to Robin's side, and, assessing the situation instantly, grabbed the Riddler's wrist and tore off the control device.

At the same moment that Batman threw the device to the floor, Robin managed to tear off the collar and threw it down as well. "What kept you?" Robin asked, grinning as he rubbed his neck, the collar broken at his feet.

"I ran into a few ladies, who didn't actually need any help." Batman considered the babbling fiend he still held in a firm, inescapable grip. "Of course, you didn't need any help, either." Batman tied their captive with a super strong restraint from his utility belt before reaching out a hand to help his young partner to his feet. "Well done, my friend." Batman whispered.

"Thanks," Robin replied, as the police, whom Chase had slipped out and called, finally arrived.

Bruce Wayne relished the quiet. He had seen Chase home, and had settled himself on the sofa in front of the fireplace in his study. Chase had told him she wold be leaving Gotham for a Conference somewhere, and she was personally taking charge of Selena Kyle's rehabilitation. He didn't blame her. There were too many supervillains–as the press had dubbed them–in Gotham.

He allowed himself to savor the delicate flavor of the subtle wine he'd chosen from the Wayne Wine Cellar. A brief smile touched his lips. Alfred would be home soon. He'd recovered sufficiently from his injuries, that the hospital was finally releasing him. 

Things were getting back to normal, Bruce thought, or at least as normal as the most abnormal home in Gotham could be. Bruce considered Dick Grayson's role in his life. He was pleased to have a partner, but worried that the young man had the bad end of the deal. What could Bruce really offer him? Sure he had everything money could buy, but perhaps sharing in Bruce's vigilante lifestyle wasn't the best thing for him.

Bruce had talked to Alfred about it, but Alfred had simply smiled, and told the young man he'd raised that Bruce had not chosen to take Dick in as much as Dick had chosen to take up the same battle Bruce had fought so nobly alone.

He smiled at the thought.

"What's so funny?" Dick's voice came from across the room.

Bruce looked over at him. "Nothing really. I was just thinking what odd lives you, Alfred, and I lead.

Dick laughed. "I suppose so, but it's better that way, don't you think?"

"What do you mean?" Bruce was puzzled.

Dick perched on the arm of the brown leather couch, and favored Bruce with a dazzling smile. "People would ask my Mom and Dad how they could raise Chris and me in the Circus. How can you let them lead that kind of life at their age?' they would say." Dick's eyes filled slightly as he remembered his father's booming laughter.

Bruce sat silently, trying not to disturb the moment. Dick seldom talked about his family, and Bruce didn't want him to abandon the discussion prematurely. It had to be good for him finally to remember something good.

Dick cleared his throat, remembering he hadn't finished the tale. "My Dad would laugh and look them in the eye, and say Better they lead this life than some other life lead them.'"

Bruce smiled at the words. "Your father was a wise man."

Dick looked down. "Yeah. He was." The young man looked back at his new guardian. "I seem to have a habit of finding wise men to live with."

Bruce stood and walked over to his young ward. "Dick, I'm glad you came along. I hope you plan to stick around, but remember to live your life. This is all that mine has become, but you can become anything. You can go back to the circus. You can go to college"

"Thanks for the thought, Bruce, but I'm sticking around."

"I was hoping you'd say that."

Dick glanced over Bruce's shoulder at the window. A bright light had caught his eye. Seeing the Bat Signal, he gestured towards it. "Duty calls."

Bruce turned and saw the signal. "So it does." He looked Dick in the eye, and smiled. "Let's go and lead that life."

Dick smiled back, and together they raced to the Batcave.

THE END


End file.
